


Hidden in the Deep

by heartsmadeofbooks



Category: Glee
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, FBI Agent Blaine Anderson, Family Drama, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsmadeofbooks/pseuds/heartsmadeofbooks
Summary: Kurt Hummel's only concern was getting the perfect role in the perfect Broadway show. But when one night he witnesses a real nightmare, Kurt's focus shifts from saving his career to saving something much more important: his own life.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson & Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thursday!  
> I'm almost running out of old fics to upload!  
> Today is the turn of probably the most challenging fic I've ever written – it has a different vibe and I remember hating it so much when I first started it, feeling so inadequate. But I did end up liking the final result when I posted it back in 2016/2017.  
> It was also the only fic I wrote in which I had no help from any betas, so please excuse any grammar mistakes you might find!  
> Without further ado, here's Hidden in the Deep. I hope you'll like it ♥

The stage door opened, and Kurt Hummel slipped out of the theatre unnoticed by people congregated there. His blue eyes glanced around, as if hoping someone would light up by the sight of him, recognize him, tell him how marvelous he had been tonight. But everyone was either chatting excitedly about the show or waiting, gazes fixed on the stage door, hoping one of the stars would appear soon, ready to dazzled them again before the evening was over.

Kurt might as well had been invisible. He was only in the ensemble, after all.

It wasn't often that Kurt was bitter about the fact that he didn't have a more important role. He had worked hard to get to where he was, and he was grateful to have a job that paid the bills while allowing him to do what he loved at the same time. But his thirtieth birthday had been the previous week, and he was starting to wonder whether he was a little too old to keep waiting for his big break. Did dreams have expiration dates? Was there a point where all you had left was to settle or give up?

And what would he do if he gave up? Kurt's whole life had always revolved around being on stage. He didn't know what else he could possibly do…

He was about to turn around the corner, when he heard the crowd gathered at stage door cheering and applauding. Mona and Brian must have come out. He didn't look over his shoulder to check if he was right. He didn't need to. He knew what it sounded like when a star showed up.

Kurt walked down Broadway towards Times Square, his hands jammed deep into his jeans pockets, with a slight frown on his face. He knew he had talent. Everyone knew he had enough drive to get what he wanted. Yet, for some reason, the big leading role that could give him everything he had ever dreamed was elusive, always out of reach. He couldn't understand what he was doing wrong…

"Hey, Kurt! Where are you going?"

The voice startled him, making him stop and almost collide with a French family walking behind him trying to make sense of a huge map. Kurt blinked in confusion before he recognized his brother, standing at the entrance of the diner they had agreed to meet at after Kurt's show. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he had missed Finn completely, something that was quite difficult to accomplish, considering Finn was the tallest man Kurt had ever met.

Kurt reached him and was immediately enveloped in a bear hug. Finn was always generous in his affections, and Kurt smiled against his shoulder as he accepted it. "Sorry, I guess I was distracted."

Finn released him and then guided him inside, towards their favorite table. They sat across each other and Finn's almond eyes settled on him. "Are you okay?"

Straight to the point. Kurt loved that about his brother. He shrugged and started playing with the salt shaker. "I guess. I'm just being stupid…"

"I'm sure you're not. Wanna tell me what's going on?" Finn leaned over the table, all his attention on his brother, and Kurt felt a rush of affection all through him.

Before he could say a word, though, the waitress arrived at their table to take their orders. Finn glanced at the menu quickly, trying to decide, but Kurt looked up at her and said: "I'd like a cheeseburger, please. With fries and onion rings."

Finn arched an eyebrow, said he wanted the same, and waited for the waitress to be gone before he turned back to Kurt. "So something's definitely wrong. You usually don't eat greasy stuff. You keep saying you can't gain weight or you won't fit into your costume."

Kurt groaned and let his head fall on his arms on top of the table. "Do you think I'm wasting my time on this show?"

"I thought you loved the show," Finn commented.

Kurt peeked at him. "I do. I just feel like I'm not getting anywhere. I'm a chorus boy…"

"I thought you said it was called ensemble…"

"… and I'm not exactly a _boy_ anymore, am I?" Kurt continued, ignoring Finn's words. "I'm thirty. I'm already too old for some of the parts I always wanted to play…"

"You're not old, that's ridiculous," Finn interjected, rolling his eyes. "You don't look a day older than twenty five and you know it."

The waitress left the food on the table between them, forcing Kurt to sit up. He sighed as he grabbed a French fry and popped it into his mouth.

"Are you sure work's all that's bothering you?" Finn asked, watching his brother closely. "I know it's not exactly what you wanted, but at least you're on Broadway, right? You used to say that was all you needed to be happy."

"Maybe I was wrong," Kurt replied quietly, staring at his burger as if it had all the answers. Finn seemed a little lost, unused to see Kurt so crestfallen, so Kurt decided to change the subject. "Anyway, how are you? Did you have training today?"

Finn probably couldn't find something to say. He didn't know what it was to be in his brother's shoes. Kurt had had to fight for everything so hard all his life, and Finn, though he had had his own battles too, had achieved everything he had ever wanted.

Finn was currently a center in the New York Giants. Since he was young, Finn has worked his ass off to make a career in the football world. He had earned a scholarship, played for the Buckeyes during college, and transferred to New York a few years ago. Word on the street was that he was next in line to be quarterback. Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if that happened within the next year – if there was one thing he and his brother had in common, it was their drive.

They chatted amicably for the rest of the meal, and then stayed silent as they waited for the check. They tried to get together for a meal at least once a month, more often if they could get away with it. Family was important to them, and it had been only the two of them for a few years now.

They stepped out of the restaurant and back into the ever busy New York street. Kurt was about to say goodbye when Finn clasped a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Look, I don't know if what you're going through now is some kind of insanely early midlife crisis, but if you're not happy… then find something that makes you happy, man," Finn said, smiling in that quirked way that was so loveable. "Life's too short to be stuck in a job you're not enjoying. If it makes you miserable…"

"It doesn't make me miserable, per se…" Kurt muttered tiredly. "I just thought I would have gotten farther than the ensemble by now. But it seems that there aren't any right parts for me anywhere…"

"Then why don't you write them?" Finn said with a shrug, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. "Didn't Dad tell you the same thing when you were bummed about not landing a role in that high school musical?"

At the mention of their father, Kurt's heart seemed to pound against his ribcage. It always did when he thought of him. But he shook his head. "I'm not a writer…"

"Kurt, if there's anything I know for sure is that you can be whatever the hell you want to be. No one can stop you," Finn answered, squeezing his shoulder one more time. "Just think about it."

As Kurt watched his brother walk down the street, failing at getting lost in the crowd since he towered over all of them, he thought that he may not have found the job of his dreams yet, but he had certainly lucked out in the brother department.

He turned around and headed in the opposite direction, towards the subway station. Everything Finn had said seemed to keep him company on the ride home, echoing in his head as he tried to make sense of it. Could he write a show? Was he good enough for that? He had always been a creative enough person, but this was about more than being creative. He had enough connections in the industry to find people who could be interested in helping him bringing a show to life, but…

Kurt felt a tickle of excitement. Was he really considering this? He didn't even know where to start…

He got down from the subway at his stop and climbed the stairs up to the street. His neighborhood was calm, the sidewalks pretty much deserted. Even if it was New York, it was Wednesday, and most people were home. Kurt was eager to get home, too. He wanted a shower, maybe a glass of wine before bed, and some quiet so he could think.

He was only two blocks from his building when he heard a choking sound, followed by a louder noise, like something heavy was dropped. Kurt frowned and looked around, and thought he saw a shadow moving in an alley just a few feet away.

Kurt had been a New Yorker for over a decade now. He knew that nothing good could be happening in an alley in the dark. He knew that what he had to do was keep walking, get to his building, and forget about it. He knew it could be a mugging, a drug addict, someone taking the trash out. He knew it was none of his business.

He fished his cellphone out of his pocket, tapped it to have some light, and peeked into the alley.

The first thing he saw was a pile of clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. That was almost enough to make him turn around – it wasn't usual to find prostitutes in this neighborhood, but if that's what this was, he didn't want to walk into her doing her business. When he saw a pale, female foot just a few inches away from the clothes, he assumed he was right. But when he discovered the blood stains on the floor around the woman's body, he realized he had just seen something a lot worse than someone having sex for money.

The still woman on the dirty floor was completely naked, her brunette hair fanned out around her head. Her gorgeous blue eyes were staring up at the New York sky, incapable of seeing anything anymore. Her lips were slightly parted, like she had just exhaled a breath. But the most horrifying thing was on her bare stomach – someone had cut a rough heart shape into her milky skin, and blood poured down her sides steadily.

Kurt's legs seemed to give up under him, but he managed to catch himself with a hand against the wall. He gasped, horrified, only to find out he wasn't the only person standing in the alleyway. The light coming from his cellphone fell on someone looking down at the woman's lifeless body.

The man turned his head and looked at Kurt, who was staring back at him with wide, petrified eyes. Kurt couldn't breathe, and somewhere in his numb state of sheer horror, he remembered some articles he had seen in the newspaper, that he had scanned vaguely while having his morning coffee, about the women who had appeared death, naked, with heart shapes carved into their skin like a morbid signature in an atrocious piece of art.

His stomach churned as he realized he had to get the hell away from there _right now_.

The man's head quirked to the side as he regarded Kurt with interest. There was something manic and unpleasant about him, and Kurt couldn't look away. When he tried to, his gaze shifted down, and he realized the man was aroused – aroused by the crime he had just committed, aroused by a dead girl's body.

Kurt had never felt so sick in his life.

"Hello," the man said in a low voice, as his lips stretched into a little smile. He was holding a knife, and Kurt took a deep breath to keep himself from passing out at the sight of it.

Kurt's eyes shifted again towards the girl's body, as if he expected her to get up and start running.

"Isn't she pretty?" The man asked, with a sigh. "I think she's a model."

Kurt was shaking all over. He was mentally screaming at his legs to move, to get him out of there, but he was paralyzed. This couldn't be real. This kind of thing didn't happen in real life, not in his real life. Maybe he had fallen asleep on the subway ride home. He would wake up at the last stop and he would have to ride the train back. It wouldn't be the first time…

 _Please, wake up_ , he told himself desperately.

"You look like a model too," the man murmured thoughtfully, stepping closer. Kurt could feel his breath against his skin now. The man's eyes were bloodshot and slimy green. "I really like your pretty brown hair and blue eyes…"

Kurt had felt trapped and scared a million times before. When he was a teenager, he had been terrorized by bigoted assholes who thought they were better than him. He had been pushed, insulted, spit on, tossed into dumpsters, attacked for who he was. But he had never felt as scared as he felt now – this wasn't a stupid jock who projected his insecurities on Kurt. This was a maniac with a knife, _who had just killed a person_.

Despite knowing it was crazy, Kurt couldn't shut down his survival instincts. He had learned to fight back so long ago that he couldn't just stay there and let this insane person hurt him. He felt his body vibrate as if came back from the shock. His legs were now steady under him. He had to get out of here.

He pushed the man and turned to run back onto the sidewalk and towards his apartment. But the man was faster, and grabbed onto Kurt's arm, pulling him back into the alley, pushing him farther inside. Kurt almost tripped with the girl's leg, and forced himself not to look down at her.

The man was now standing right in the alley's entrance, blocking Kurt. Kurt swallowed nervously and looked around. There wasn't much there that could help him – a couple of dumpsters, a few garbage bags, nothing that would be useful to defend himself.

With a sickening smile, the man started approaching again. He knew Kurt was trapped. "Don't be scared. There's nothing to be scared of…"

Kurt's back hit the alley wall. His free hand started feeling around for something, _anything_ that could help him. "Stand back! Don't touch me!"

The man extended a hand towards Kurt just as Kurt's fingers closed around something. He didn't know it was a bottle until he smashed it on the man's head and watched the glass break on his skull with a crunch. But he didn't stop to think – as soon as the man was doubled over, moaning in pain, Kurt ran.

By the time he was with one foot out of the alley, he was already dialing 911. His hands were shaking but he still managed it on the first try, doing his best not to listen to what the man was screaming at him from the dark. He heard the footsteps behind him that told him he was being followed. Kurt knew he wouldn't make it home before the man caught him. He needed to try. He needed…

There was a phone booth at the end of the street. He knew it wasn't the best place to hide, but it was his only option for now. He slipped inside and locked the door, breathing heavily. He could see the man now, just a few step away. He was smiling. He thought he had Kurt now.

There was another voice in his ear, and it took a moment for Kurt to realize there was a 911 operator talking to him. He sobbed and looked away from the man, knowing there was nowhere to hide. If the door gave in or the glass walls were broken, it would be the end.

"Please," he cried desperately, gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles were white. "Please, I need help."

* * *

It was just a few minutes after midnight when Blaine Anderson slipped the key into his door and stepped inside his apartment in Brooklyn. It was the earliest he had been home in weeks. Things were always hectic at the office, and it was so easy to get sucked into the vortex of the cases and their paperwork.

He slipped out of his shoes and undid the knot of his tie simultaneously. His grey suit had been pristine when he put it on that morning. Now it was wrinkled, with a stain of coffee on one of the sleeves. Blaine had always been very neat who took care of his clothes and tried to look his best at all times. Now, it was difficult to look his best when he spent almost sixteen hours a day at work.

His dark curls had already slipped free from the gel he had put on this morning. He ran his fingers through them, loosening them, as he walked towards the kitchen. He looked into the fridge, hoping for something to eat. There was only a bowl of leftover spaghetti from three nights ago and something he had bought at the deli last week that looked quite dubious. He hadn't been grocery shopping in weeks, and he usually lived on take-out. Blaine sighed and settled by grabbing a bottle of beer and walking barefoot towards the living room.

Most people, when they were at home, felt at ease. They relaxed, had a meal with their families, shared stories about their days, and went to sleep in the arms of the person they loved. Blaine dreaded his time at home – it was tainted with loneliness and too much silence. Maybe that was why he was always at the office, letting the bureau become his life. At least when he was working on a case, he had a purpose and something to keep him busy.

He uncapped his bottle and took a long sip, as he flipped through the channels on the television. He let a mindless sitcom play in the background while his mind wandered back to the case consuming his life. Blaine had been an FBI agent for almost eight years, but nothing had ever felt as challenging or life threatening as his current case. A sicko went around New York City killing women, stripping their clothes off and cutting heart shapes into their skin. There were eleven victims, and they still had no idea how to trap him. They never knew where or when he was going to strike next, and the guy seemed clever enough to leave absolutely no clues in the murder scenes.

It was driving Blaine crazy.

He let his head drop to the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. This was why he didn't like going home – he couldn't turn off his brain, even if he tried. At least if he stayed at work he didn't feel like he was wasting his time.

His gaze shifted to a portrait standing on one of his bookshelves. It was of him and his family when he was a kid, during a camping trip. Both he and his brother had pestered their parents to take them camping, until they finally agreed. Their mother had hated every second of it, but their father had been relaxed and happy from the moment they arrived at the campsite. He gladly sat by the lake and taught Blaine how to fish, showing him how to put the bait on the hook very carefully so he wouldn't prick his little fingers. At night, he and Cooper would put marshmallows on sticks and toast them on the fire, while their mother sang quietly under her breath to keep them entertained.

That had been one of the happiest times of Blaine's life.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he had pushed the memory away from his thoughts. He tried focusing on whatever was on television, even though he knew it would be better to just go to sleep.

Blaine ran his thumb over the rim of the bottle. He was restless, as usual. There were several minor cases that needed his attention, but there was always one that would push to the front. It was the first time in Blaine's career that he couldn't solve a case in just a couple of months, tops. All the others had always screwed up at some point – they would find a hair, or a drop of blood, or a cigarette butt that would give them the DNA they needed to find the criminal, or they would find a surveillance video that would lead them to close the case. But this time… there wasn't a single clue. It was like a puzzle where no pieces matched.

Blaine had never really liked puzzles.

He was about to give up and just go to bed when his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his slack's pocket and glanced at the screen and found it was one of his teammates.

"Hey, what's up?" He asked distractedly, already standing up and taking his bottle with him to the bedroom.

"Are you home already?" Santana asked without preambles.

Blaine put the bottle on the nightstand and rummaged through his dresser without bothering to turn on the light. He found some soft cotton pants and an old t-shirt and pulled them out to sleep in. "Yeah, just got here a few minutes ago. Why?"

"You have to get back here, Anderson," Santana said, and then Blaine noticed something in her voice, but he wasn't sure what it was.

Blaine frowned. "Why? What happened?"

"It happened again. He killed a girl in an alley in the Lower East Side."

Blaine exhaled slowly and dropped down on the bed, as his whole body tensed with the news. " _Fuck_. Send me the address. I'll be there soon."

"No, you have to come to the office," Santana replied and she sounded… excited?

"What? Why? I need to see the crime scene so I can…"

"Blaine," Santana interrupted impatiently. "You have to come to the office."

Blaine gripped the edge of the bed in anticipation. "Wait. Did you guys find anything?"

"No. Some guys are at the scene already, but they say everything looks the same as in all the others. There are no clues."

"Then, why…?" Blaine began saying, but Santana cut him off.

"Blaine, there's a witness." Santana stopped for a few seconds, letting the information sink. "We have a fucking _witness_."

Blaine stood up and left his room, quickly walking towards the front door. He gathered his shoes and put them back on hastily. They had never been able to find a witness before.

He slipped back into his jacket and ended the call. Blaine left his apartment, walking down the front steps two at a time. His street was as calm and silent as New York could ever be, but Blaine was thrumming inside – this could change everything.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt rubbed a hand down his face. He had been in this office for a few hours, and the fluorescent white light was hurting his. He just wanted to go home. Maybe if he went home, crawled into his bed and went to sleep, he could get pretend that nothing extraordinary had happened.

 _This is not happening. I still can wake up. For the love of god, Hummel, just_ wake up.

He looked up when he heard the sound of footsteps. One of the agents he had seen before entered the office. She was rather short, with long brunette hair held back with a navy blue headband. She was smiling gently at him in a way that meant to be comforting. But Kurt had had enough with this day, and the only comfort he could think of was to be allowed to get the hell away from here.

"Mr. Hummel…" The woman began saying, but Kurt interrupted her.

"Look, I'm sorry. But will anyone please tell me when I can go home? No one's told me anything since they brought me here…" He muttered almost pleadingly.

The agent's dark eyes filled with sympathy. "Soon, I'm sure. We just need to ask you a few more questions, and…"

"More questions?" Kurt got up from his chair, feeling restless. "I've already spoken to three different agents. I've told you everything."

"We understand that," the agent said patiently. "But it'll only take a few minutes."

Kurt stared out of the window at the beautiful skyline of New York. The city was always alive and luminous, even in the middle of the night. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass and closed his eyes for a moment. Just a bit longer – he could resist for just a little bit longer. And as soon as he woke up the next day, he could pretend this had never happened.

 _This is what happens when you think you need more excitement in your life_ , he thought bitterly. _I'll never complain about being in the ensemble again._

He thought of the girl lying naked on the filthy alley floor. He had to take a deep breath to stop himself from throwing up. He would never be able to pretend that hadn't happened.

He went back to his seat with his legs feeling weak and hid his face behind his hands.

Kurt heard new footsteps but didn't look up, focusing instead on inhaling and exhaling slowly. There was a soft sound and when he finally put his hands down and opened his eyes, he found a cup of coffee right in front of him. He instinctively wrapped his fingers around the hot ceramic mug, white with the FBI logo on it, and then glanced up at the man who had brought it for him.

He hadn't seen this agent before in the hours he had been sitting in this dully decorated office. The man had curly dark hair that had obviously tried to tame with some product, and whiskey eyes that looked tired but alert. His grey suit and white shirt were wrinkled, and the black tie hanging around his neck was a little loose. Despite how serious he looked, Kurt couldn't help thinking he was attractive. If he hadn't been so tired and traumatized, Kurt would have felt flustered under this stranger's intense gaze.

"Mr. Hummel, I'm agent Anderson," the man said. He put an official looking folder on the table and offered his hand to Kurt. Kurt shook it and noticed how firm his handshake was, and how rough the skin of his palm was to the touch. "I'm sorry we had to keep you here for so long, but as you probably know, this is a very delicate situation."

"You mean the fact that a girl was murdered two blocks away from my apartment? And then some crazy man tried to knock down a phone booth to get to me as well? Yes, I definitely understand how delicate this is. But I'm sure you and the other three agents I talked to also understand that it was a pretty difficult night and I would very much like to go home," Kurt retorted quite abruptly, feeling his voice go higher and higher in pitch the longer he talked.

 _So this is what going into hysterics feels like_ , he thought, as his heart pounded against his ribcage.

He took a sip of coffee hoping it would help him calm down, but he almost spit it out immediately. It had to be the worst coffee he had ever tasted.

"Sorry about that," Agent Anderson said sincerely. "I always forget I only drink that because I'm used to it."

"Wow," Kurt scrunched his face, willing his taste buds back to normal. "So all those FBI TV shows were actually right about the awful coffee…"

"Unfortunately, yes," Agent Anderson sighed, and then took a seat in front of Kurt. His face returned to its original seriousness and Kurt put the cup down. "Mr. Hummel, I know you have already been through a lot tonight. But I was hoping you could tell me about what happened in detail."

Kurt ran his fingers through his hair. He was exhausted and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it again. However, he realized that the sooner he told Agent Anderson about it, the sooner he would be on his way home. So he began talking, making sure not to spare any detail. Anderson listened intently; he never interrupted him, looking straight at Kurt, hanging to his every word. The other agents he had spoken to had only made Kurt more nervous, but there was something soothing about how Anderson was solely focused on him.

"Once I called 911, I wasn't sure what to do. All I knew was that I needed the door to hold up until the cops were there," Kurt said quietly. He could still hear the man's shouts and the violent pounding of his heart as he waited – either for the police to get there or for the man to make it through. He had never been so scared in his life. "As soon as he heard the sirens, he left. By the time the police helped me out of the phone booth, he was nowhere to be seen."

Agent Anderson nodded for a second, simply processing what Kurt had said. Then he opened the folder he had brought with him. He extracted a sheet of paper from it and extended it to Kurt. "Based on the description you gave to one of our agents earlier tonight, we were able to put together this identikit. Is this the man you saw tonight?"

Kurt studied the drawing, his blue eyes moving quickly over it. He tried not to get sick for the millionth time that night. The image was strikingly familiar, even though he hoped he had never seen that face before. "Yes. Yes, this is him."

It was the same shaggy blonde hair, broad forehead and thin lips. His square jaw and sharp cheekbones framed his face making it look stony. But what made Kurt's skin crawl was his eyes – that slimy green that made him feel dirty and uncomfortable…

He put the drawing back on the table, face down. He didn't want to look at it anymore.

Agent Anderson put it back in the folder. "We're looking for him in our database, and we'll have his picture out in newspapers and the internet tomorrow. We're going to find him, thanks to you."

Kurt nodded. The image of the dead girl assaulted him again, so clear in his memory that he knew he would never be able to forget it. "That poor girl… I wish I could have… if I had arrived five minutes earlier…"

"You wouldn't have been able to prevent it," Agent Anderson said kindly. "This person is insane and there's no way to know what he would have done if you had caught him before he got to her. Don't blame yourself."

Kurt smiled sadly at him but didn't say anything. It was difficult to avoid wondering _what if_ …

Agent Anderson gave him a moment while he rummaged through the folder. "Do you have any family in town, Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt frowned, not sure what that had to do with anything. "Yes. My brother's here in New York."

"Do you live on your own?" Anderson asked, lifting his gaze back towards him.

"I… yes. Why?"

"I think it would be best for you to stay with him tonight, if it's possible," Agent Anderson said. "I imagine it must have been a rough night for you."

Kurt wanted to protest and say he was perfectly okay. But the idea of slipping into his dark apartment at four in the morning made him feel slightly nervous. "Sure. He won't mind."

"Perfect," Agent Anderson stood and Kurt did the same, hoping this meant it was time for him to leave. "Agent Berry will take you there, and she'll stay outside the building tonight. We'll send another agent to relieve her in the morning and escort you to your house to…"

"Oh, no," Kurt said, wide-eyed. "I don't need FBI agents following me around. Trust me, I'm more than ready to put this behind me. I don't need a constant reminder walking a few steps behind like some sort of bodyguard."

"Mr. Hummel…" Agent Anderson was getting ready to unleash his most convincing argument on Kurt. He clearly had no idea just how stubborn Kurt could be.

"Listen, Agent Anderson. I understand that this is a very delicate situation, as you said. But I don't want FBI agents following me. I will stay with my brother tonight and tomorrow I'll go to work like I always do," Kurt said.

"Mr. Hummel, this is a very shocking moment for you, I'm sure. Don't you think it would be better to wait a few days?" Agent Anderson cocked his head, as if he couldn't figure out why Kurt would be so eager to pretend it had only been an ordinary night.

Kurt shook his head stubbornly. He looked up at the agent with a tired, humorless smile. "The show must go on, right?"

Agent Anderson simply blinked at him for a few seconds, staring at Kurt as if he had never seen someone like him before, trying to figure him out. Finally, he cleared his throat and nodded reluctantly. "Very well. I'll get Agent Berry to take you to your brother's house, then."

"Thank you," Kurt sighed in relief.

"We may need to ask you to testify against him when we catch him… can we count with you?" Agent Anderson asked.

Kurt grabbed his coat and put it on. "Of course. Anything I can do to help, just let me know."

"Thank you," Agent Anderson replied, and then extracted a card from his pocket. "Call me if you remember anything else that may be relevant."

"I will," Kurt promised, glancing quickly at the card before slipping it into his own pocket.

Anderson led him out of the office, where they found Agent Berry reading some files. Both agents exchanged a few words, before Agent Anderson said goodbye and thanked Kurt once again for his cooperation.

On the drive to Finn's apartment, Kurt leaned his head against the window and tried not to think too much. In just a few hours, he needed to get up and head back to the theatre. He was sure he would need all his strength to face that moment.

He thanked Agent Berry and got out of the car when she pulled up at Finn's building. Kurt had his own key, so he didn't need to wake up his brother. He would have to tell him everything in the morning. He wasn't excited about dealing with Finn now, knowing how overprotective he could be. He was bound to get very intense when he heard about what had happened.

Kurt thought it would take him ages to fall asleep, but he was out like a light as soon as he got comfortable on the couch. He was still hoping to wake up in his own bed and discover this had been only a very elaborate nightmare…

* * *

It seemed as if he had only been asleep for a few minutes when Kurt blinked his eyes open and found Finn standing by the couch, looking down at him in surprise. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a ratty OSU t-shirt with a hole on the left shoulder.

"Kurt? Why are you sleeping on my couch?" He asked in confusion.

Kurt groaned and covered his face with an arm. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation, especially since he had gotten a lot less sleep than necessary. "I think I'm going to need a cup of coffee before I can talk about it."

Finn tilted his head to the side. "You look terrible. Are you okay?"

He slowly sat up and brushed his hair out of his face. "Give me a minute and I'll tell you everything. I… I just need a minute."

Finn nodded and walked towards the kitchen, but kept glancing at him over his shoulder. In the morning light, the events of the previous night seemed so surreal, so impossible. How was he going to tell Finn, especially when he didn't want to recall what had happened once again? Talking to the FBI agents, retelling everything over and over had been almost mechanic. But he knew that with Finn that would not be possible – he couldn't detach himself from what had happened and simply state the facts. He would get emotional and he would have to deal with what he had seen, what he had been through…

He joined Finn in the kitchen a few minutes later, still unsure. He felt sick and exhausted, just as badly as the previous night. When he handed him a steamy cup of coffee, he took an eager sip from it, hoping it would make him feel a little more normal.

"You know, you're starting to worry me," Finn commented from where he was leaning against the counter. "Is this about what we talked about last night? Are you going to quit the show or something?"

"No, it's not that…" Kurt took a deep breath and looked at Finn over the rim of his mug. "Finn… something happened last night."

"Bad hook up? I've had a few of those. It's okay, I'm not going to judge you," Finn shrugged, giving him a smile that was full of support.

Shaking his head, Kurt put the cup down when he noticed his hands were trembling slightly. "Have you heard of those murders that had been happening for a few months now? It's always women and they always find them naked…"

Finn's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Of course I have. It's all over the news. One of my teammate's cousins is one of the victims. I think she was one of the first cases, too. But what does that have to do with anything?"

The kitchen was spinning around him. He felt a soft pressure on his arm and realized Finn had moved towards him and was holding him with his eyes full of concern.

"Kurt?"

"I saw him last night. I… he killed a girl two blocks away from my apartment," Kurt explained in a strained voice.

"Oh my god…" Finn's grip on him tightened unconsciously. "I can't believe… are you alright?"

He guided him towards the breakfast bar and forced him down onto one of the stools. With his hand firmly on his brother's shoulder, Kurt began talking without even realizing he was doing it. He told him about the girl, how he had managed to hide in the phone booth until the police came, and how he had to talked to several FBI agents before he could go home.

Finn was clearly having a hard time processing what he was hearing. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he couldn't decide what he wanted to say first. Lastly, he settled on a question. "How are you?"

"I think I'm still in shock," Kurt replied with a sigh. "I've been mostly wishing to wake up, because this _has_ to be a nightmare. And that poor girl…" He covered his mouth with a hand. He could still see the blood pouring from the wound in her stomach, painting her pale skin red.

Finn wrapped his arms around him and held him for what felt like a very long time. Kurt finally allowed himself to cry. He felt so selfish crying for what he had been through, when the girl – and oh god, he didn't even know her name – had been the one to pay the higher price. But Agent Anderson had been right the previous night – he had no way of knowing this would happen. He wouldn't have been able to avoid it even if he had found the killer sooner. This was a maniac who had taken the lives of almost a dozen women by now. How would have Kurt stopped him? He might have fought back enough to escape when he felt trapped, but he wouldn't have had the chance to get her to safety as well.

When had his life turned into the worst horror movie ever written?

"Hey," Finn muttered after a while, rubbing his back soothingly. "Let me go call work and tell them I can't make it to training today. We can just camp on the couch all day and watch bad reality television. What do you say?"

"No, god, don't even think about it," Kurt said as he hastily wiped his tears away. "You are gonna go to work, and I'm gonna go to the theatre…"

Finn froze, looking surprised and even more worried than a minute ago. "Are you crazy? You can't go to work today, Kurt. You've just been through a very traumatic experience."

"I know. But I need to do something normal, and the show is what's normal to me, Finn…"

"No one would blame you if you wanted to take a few days off after this…" Finn retorted hesitantly.

But Kurt shook his head adamantly. "No. I can't. I have to go to work. I _have_ to."

Finn followed him as he walked into the living room to pick up his shoes and messenger bag. He was wringing his hands anxiously. "Please. Do it for me? I'll feel a lot better if you stay with me today. Kurt…"

"Finn," he paused and turned to look at him. He needed him to understand – everything could have changed the previous night. But he was still here and he still had the opportunity to keep living his dream. Staying at home with him felt like he wasn't taking advantage of it. "I'm going to go to work. And I'll come back tonight and we can order take out and I'll let you coddle me then. But not now. I _need_ to do this."

It looked like he wanted to protest, but one of the wonderful things about Finn was that he knew when to stop pushing. Maybe he didn't agree with what Kurt wanted to do, but he would always put his feelings aside and let him do what he thought was best. "Okay. We'll get pizza, and watch a movie. I can pick up some strawberry cheesecake ice-cream on my way back home from training. What do you say?"

Kurt smiled softly at him. He was glad to have his brother on his side. He walked towards him and gave him a quick one-armed hug. "That sounds lovely. I'll see you tonight."

Finn watched him leave the apartment with an anxious look on his face, and biting his lip to stop himself from begging him to stay.

* * *

Once he was out of Finn's building, Kurt looked down at his watch and then at his wrinkled clothes. He decided he had plenty of time to make a quick stop at his own place for a shower before he had to be at the theatre. He was still too tired to walk or even take the subway, so he hailed a cab. He did his best not to doze off while he sat in the backseat waiting for the car to make its way through the morning traffic.

His head a mess – memories, questions and random thoughts mingled together. He knew what he had lived wasn't normal. He knew it was a traumatic moment. He knew it would always be there, in the back of his mind, even when time passed and he moved on. But he needed to think about how thousands of people went through the same things, harder things, impossible things every single day. How they still managed to get up in the morning and keep living their lives. He had learned to get up in the morning after his mother died. He kept going during the time his father had been in a coma when he was in high school, or during the many years of bullying. He had managed to walk with his head raised high and fight against the tide even when he was exhausted.

He would manage to do the same thing now.

Kurt lived in a lovely tree-lined street, in an apartment in a renovated brownstone. There had been times when he had struggled to pay the rent, but he had never wanted to give up this place. It had turned into a home.

The driver pulled over in front of his house as Kurt fished some cash out of his pocket. The morning breeze caressed his face when he stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. It was almost ten in the morning by now. He wondered if he would have enough time to take a nap and eat something before he had to leave.

He walked up the steps while taking his keys out of his pocket, but stopped abruptly when he reached the door. The lock was broken. Kurt only had to give the door a little push for it to open all the way in.

His heart began beating wildly, as his breath got caught in his throat. What else could happen to him in just twenty four hours? Wasn't witnessing a murder enough for one day? Did he have to deal with a thief as well?

Discouraged and feeling even more exhausted, Kurt stepped into his apartment. He groaned in frustration when he saw how messy his living room was. The decorative pillows on the couch had been destroyed and their filling was lying everywhere. Some of the portraits had been knocked off the shelves and there was glass all over the floor. His books were in pieces, pages ripped off of them carelessly and thrown around.

But what suddenly got his attention was the fact that both his television and laptop were still where he had last seen them. What kind of thief leaves a laptop?

A shiver went down Kurt's spine as a thought crossed his mind. But no… it couldn't be. Could it?

He walked to the kitchen and found it was as much of a mess as the living room. The drawers had been emptied on the floor and the contents of the fridge were sprawled all over the counters and the table. Everything was a disaster and it would take Kurt a long time to clean up, but it still didn't mean anything, right? Maybe the thief had been looking for cash. Maybe that's why they hadn't taken anything…

When he walked into his bedroom, he knew for sure this was not an ordinary break-in. He knew the person who had broken into his apartment hadn't been looking for money or expensive jewels.

"Oh my god…" He whispered, feeling his legs weaken and his blood turning into ice.

The pillows on his bed had been stabbed, and right above the headboard, on the white wall, someone had painted a red heart.


	3. Chapter 3

It was another busy morning. Navigating the streets of New York required a special skill, born from habit and years of living in the city. Blaine Anderson made his way down the street, dark sunglasses perched on his nose, expertly avoiding tourists and New Yorkers alike.

It had been a very long night, and he had gone home for just two hours to shower and put on some clean clothes. Still, he didn't mind the fatigue. He had never been closer to catching this son of a bitch. The excitement of the chase and finally having concrete evidence kept him functioning like a well-oiled machine.

This case had been his obsession for a long time now. The murderer always committed the perfect crime. He was careful and smart, and in less morbid circumstances, Blaine would have been impressed with how skillful he was. Criminals always slipped up – sometimes they didn't know about one of the surveillance cameras, or they fled the scene so quickly that they left something behind, or they screwed up while trying to deactivate an alarm. There was always something – but in the time Blaine had been following this particular criminal, he hadn't been able to find anything.

Until now.

Blaine walked into his favorite coffee shop and stood in line, waiting as patiently as he could. All he wanted was to be in his office already. He checked his phone, but he had no missed calls or messages from his team mates. The results from the facial recognition test should be arriving to his desk any minute now. He had no idea what they would find, but he hoped it would lead them somewhere.

He ordered his medium drip, immediately moving towards the end of the bar to wait for it. In his head, he couldn't stop organizing and listing every single thing he knew about this case. It had been interesting from the beginning, and had only grown more and more urgent to solve as weeks and months went by. Blaine had worked in plenty of cases before, but this one… this one was special.

He couldn't figure out why the man targeted the same type of woman every single time – women with brown hair and blue eyes. All of them had been naked when they were found, with those damn hearts carved somewhere in their bodies. He felt like there was a clue there, something he wasn't seeing. Criminals who followed patterns, who always did something specific… those criminals were cheeky. They treated their crimes like they were games. They loved to see the FBI dancing around trying to figure out something they left there in plain sight. Those hearts, the removed clothes… they had to mean something. Blaine was frustrated because he had no idea what he was supposed to see.

Blaine thanked the barista who handed him his definitely-needed cup of coffee. He took a sip, not bothering to add cinnamon to it like he usually did, already making his way to the door. He needed to be in the bureau. It was going to be a long day, but Blaine hoped it would also be productive.

He stopped to hold the door open for a woman who was struggling with her baby twins' stroller, just as his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket, not recognizing the number. He accepted the call as he nodded to the woman, who was thanking him with a smile.

"Agent Anderson," he said in way of greeting.

The first sound on the other end was a shaky breath and an echo of his own words. "Agent Anderson…"

Blaine frowned and stopped under a shop's awning, slightly confused. The voice seemed familiar. "Yes?"

"It's Kurt Hummel. I… we met last night," the man said, unsure.

"Of course, Mr. Hummel. I remember. Is everything alright?" Blaine asked, suddenly alert.

Mr. Hummel exhaled sharply, and his voice was tinged with anxiety. "No. No, it's not."

"Tell me what happened," Blaine said gently, already on edge.

"He was here. In my apartment," Kurt explained. "I… he was in my _home_. He went through my stuff. He… he left one of those horrible red hearts in my bedroom."

Blaine felt the hairs at the back of his neck raise. He patted his pockets in search of a pen and a piece of paper. He always carried some with him. "Give me your address."

Kurt recited an address in the Lower East Side. Blaine wrote it down as he mentally calculated how long it would take him to get there.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Blaine promised, eyes scanning the street for a taxi.

"Please," Kurt said a little desperately, and Blaine didn't understand why his heart constricted in his chest at how scared the other man sounded.

On the drive to Mr. Hummel's apartment, Blaine called the bureau. He explained what had happened and askedfor a team to search the place for evidence. It was extremely disturbing and odd that the killer had changed his pattern and broken into Kurt Hummel's home. Blaine could only hope that he would have left some other clue that would lead the FBI to catching him sooner rather than later.

The taxi stopped on the curb in front of a renovated townhouse. Blaine checked the address quickly as he handed some money to the driver. He jogged to the front door and knocked, noticing the lock was broken, but the door was firmly closed. Mr. Hummel must have barricaded something against it to secure it. Blaine waited, letting one hand rest lightly on the gun at his side, just in case. It was always better to be prepared.

"Who is it?" Came a voice through the wooden door. Blaine recognized it.

"Mr. Hummel, it's Agent Anderson!" He exclaimed, and raised his badge to the peephole.

The door opened immediately, preceded by a scraping sound, like something heavy was being moved, revealing Mr. Hummel. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before – the tight jeans, green button down and brown leather jacket. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were blown wide and obviously scared. He looked a lot more vulnerable than when he had been sitting in front of Blaine at the bureau.

"He was in my house," Kurt muttered, as he held onto the door, his knuckles white. "How did he know where I live?"

"I don't know," Blaine answered, wishing he had a better answer to give him. "But we'll figure it out. Can I come in?"

"Yes, please," Kurt said, stepping aside.

Blaine entered the house. There was a heavy trunk right behind the door, which explained how Mr. Hummel had managed to close the door. The small living room and kitchen were a mess, broken mugs mixing with stabbed pillows and cracked picture frames. Mr. Hummel stayed by the door while Blaine took a look around, his arms around himself as if he needed a protective shield.

"You said he left a heart painted?" Blaine muttered.

Mr. Hummel nodded. "It's in my bedroom."

Blaine followed him to the master bedroom. The pillows were in shreds, and there was red paint dripping all over the white duvet. The heart painted right above the headboard was familiar to Blaine. He had seen it twelve times before – on every single one of this bastard's victims.

Before Blaine could say anything, there was a loud knock coming from the living room. Santana's voice rang through the apartment.

"Mr. Hummel? Anderson?"

"That's my partner," Blaine explained, as he left the bedroom quickly. Mr. Hummel followed.

Santana Lopez was a tall, stunning woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and some would even say, a dark soul. She was fierce and ruthless when it came to catching criminals, but Blaine had known her long enough now to know that it was only her work persona. When Santana was off-duty, even though she was still sarcastic and sharp, she was a much nicer person. Unless you made her angry…

"This is Agent Lopez," Blaine introduced her. She entered the apartment, followed by Agent Hart and Agent Berry. "We're going to need to search the apartment, see if we can find any evidence…"

"Do whatever you want, just tell me how he got here," Mr. Hummel said. He still had his arms wrapped around himself. "How could he know this is where I live? I didn't come here last night. I went straight to my brother's. I don't understand…"

Blaine exchanged a quick glance with Agent Berry. Rachel and Blaine were actually very good friends outside of work. She was a little intense, but she worked harder than anyone and Blaine knew he was lucky to have her on his team. Especially because she knew what he wanted to say without him needing to use his words.

"Mr. Hummel, why don't you come with me?" She asked gently. "You can sit outside with me, get some fresh air. I have a few questions for you."

"I don't…" It looked like he wanted to protest, clearly realizing they wanted to get him out of the way. But he deflated, with a defeated look on his face. "Fine." He followed Rachel outside just as two more agents arrived.

Blaine had the whole apartment searched carefully. He stood with Santana in the middle of the bedroom and stared at the wall. He frowned at the damn heart.

"How did he do it?" Blaine asked, mostly to himself. "How did he know this was his apartment?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Santana replied harshly. "This fucker must have more resources than we thought."

"I don't get it," Blaine said quietly. He glanced at Santana, and she could see the concern on his face crystal clear. "He's never changed his M.O. before. He's never done anything unexpected. He goes after the same kind of women, he kills them, he carves hearts into them, and he leaves them there for us to find. Why would he go after him now? Why did he change his tune?"

Santana's dark eyes fixed on the painting on the wall as if she could see right through it. "Because Hummel saw him. He's our first witness. We never had anyone who could identify him before. So I guess now he wants to either scare Hummel into not talking…"

"… or make sure he can't talk," Blaine finished, with a heavy feeling settling on his chest.

"Remember what Hummel said in his statement last night?" Santana said, turning to look at Blaine. "The killer told him he had pretty blue eyes and pretty brown hair…"

Blaine exhaled heavily. "He fits the description of the victims. Even though he's a man…"

"Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with it," Santana took another look around the room. "But it's one hell of a coincidence…" Her phone began ringing. She glanced at the screen before turning back to Blaine. "It's my wife, I have to take this."

"Sure, go ahead," Blaine nodded distractedly. He had a lot to think about.

He left the bedroom and went back into the kitchen just as Kurt Hummel stepped back into the apartment, followed by Rachel. He looked impatient and worried.

"Have you found anything?" He asked, marching straight towards Blaine.

"Not yet," Blaine replied. "Why don't you go back outside with Rachel, sit in the van? Maybe we can get you some tea or coffee…"

"No, I don't want tea," he said. "I need to know what's going on."

One of the crime scene investigators walked up to Blaine, then, saving him from having to answer.

"Agent Castro, do you have anything for me?"

Castro shook his head. "Nothing here. It's all clean. He left no trails."

Blaine cursed under his breath. "Fine. Send the team to inspect the bedroom now, please. There has to be something somewhere."

"He's like a ghost," Rachel said as she watched Castro head to the bedroom with the others. "How are we supposed to find a ghost?"

"He's no ghost," Kurt Hummel murmured. From where he was standing he could see into his bedroom, and his blue eyes were fixed on that horrible red heart. "Trust me. He's a real man…"

"And we will find him," Blaine assured him. The stunningly blue eyes snapped to him, and Blaine felt slightly dizzy for a moment. "No matter what. I promise you that."

Mr. Hummel swallowed visibly, but he nodded as if he trusted Blaine's word.

For some reason, the idea of disappointing this man sent a pang through Blaine's body that made him feel uneasy.

* * *

As he waited for a group of strangers to finish going through all his stuff, Kurt sat in the FBI van with Agent Berry. He slowly sipped some of the same bad coffee he had had the night before.

"Is this going to take much longer?" He asked with a sigh. "I have to be at work in an hour."

Agent Berry frowned. "Mr. Hummel… I don't think you'll be able to go to work today. It's not safe."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked, worried. "You'll catch him, right? This is going to be over soon."

The sad, sorry smile Agent Berry directed at him didn't give him much hope. "I think it would be best if you called in sick today. At least until we know for sure what our next step is."

Kurt knew when something wasn't worth fighting. And deep down, he knew the agent was right – the past few hours had been a nightmare and it still wasn't over. There was a crazy man on the loose who somehow knew where he lived. What if he found out where Kurt worked, too? Kurt didn't want any of his cast mates to be in danger. It would have been stupid of him to go to work.

"I just want things to go back to normal," he murmured tiredly, as he took his phone out of his pocket to call the theatre.

Agent Berry placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "They will, soon. If someone can catch this guy, that's Agent Anderson."

Kurt gave her a little smile before dialing.

He told the director he had a fever, and that he was hoping he would be better by the next day. And Kurt truly believed everything would be over by the time he had to leave for the theatre for the show on Friday. He was convinced this was going to be resolved soon. He thought his life had been altered enough.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Kurt sat at his kitchen table with Agent Anderson in front of him. Most of the agents had gone back to the bureau, but Agents Lopez and Berry were still there. Berry stood by the counter, a worried expression on her face, while Lopez paced around the living room, talking quickly into her phone. Kurt had no idea what was going on, but he didn't like the mood that reigned in his apartment at the moment.

"We couldn't find anything," Agent Anderson said after a long pause. It looked like it had been hard for him to admit that to Kurt. "There's nothing. He covered all his trails."

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment before focusing again on the man sitting in front of him. "What does that mean?"

"It means that we have no idea where he is or what he's planning to do next," Agent Anderson replied as calmly as he could. "And that it's not safe for you to stay here."

"What? But… this is my home," Kurt retorted, confused. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"You stayed with your brother last night, didn't you?" Agent Anderson asked and waited for Kurt to confirm that with a nod. "I think it would be better if you stayed with him for a while. We'll have two agents stationed at his building. We'll make sure they're there to protect you at all times until we catch this guy."

"But you don't know how long that would take…" Kurt said. When Anderson didn't confirm or deny that, he laughed bitterly. "What am I supposed to do until then? I can't lose my job. I can't stay hidden with my brother forever. Why is this man after me? I am not… I thought he only went after women."

"So did we," Anderson replied. "But you saw him, Mr. Hummel. You're our very first witness. No one else had ever seen him before. And we have that now. It won't be long until we find him. We already sent his identikit to every news media in this city…"

Kurt hid his face in his hands. He was tired, in desperate need of food and a shower. Everything was so _wrong_. "Okay, then I guess…"

There was a loud pounding on the front door that startled all of them. Agent Lopez immediately dropped her phone and grabbed her gun, pointing it at the door. Agent Berry moved beside her quickly to back her up. Agent Anderson stood and went around the table to stand before Kurt, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his weapon at his side.

There was a second knock, so loud that made the newly fixed door shake in its frame, followed by a shout. "Kurt! Kurt, are you there?! God, please, _please_ , open the door!"

Kurt stood up, pushing past Agent Anderson, who tried to stop him. "That's my brother!"

Agent Anderson gestured for the others to lower their guns and followed Kurt to the door. "Let me, Mr. Hummel."

Finn was still pounding on the door, more and more desperate with every second. When Agent Anderson finally opened it, he stood there frozen with his fist mid-air, and wide eyes that flew straight to the gun on the agent's hands.

"Holy shit…" He said breathlessly.

Realizing there was no one else there but his brother, Kurt pushed past Anderson to get to him. "Finn… what's going on?"

"What's…? Dude, why is he pointing at me with a gun?" Finn said.

"I'm sorry for that. We have to take precautions," Agent Anderson apologized, putting his weapon back in the holster. "These are Agents Lopez and Berry, and I'm Agent Anderson. We're with the FBI."

"Finn, he was here," Kurt said, and now that his brother was here, he felt like he could let go a little. He clung to his arm for dear life. "That… that monster was in my home."

"What?" Finn exclaimed, as his eyes went huge in shock. "He was here, too?"

Finn's words made the blood running through Kurt's veins turn into ice. The three agents stiffened, too. Kurt was about to ask him to clarify, but Agent Anderson was quicker.

"What do you mean, too?"

"He… he was in my apartment," Finn explained, a little choked. "I mean… I assume it was him. I found this stuck to my door."

He extracted a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Kurt knew what he would find before Agent Anderson even had time to grab it: there was a red heart drawn in it.

Kurt looked up from the paper, speechless. His terrified blue eyes found Agent Anderson's honey gaze. There was something hard and angry in it, like a fire trying to break to the surface.

"Change of plans," he said. "I don't think you can stay with your brother anymore, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt's grip on his brother's arm was so strong that he was afraid he was cutting off his circulation. But he still couldn't let go, and Finn didn't seem to notice. When he spoke, his voice sounded rough and dry. "Then where the hell am I supposed to go?"

The three agents exchanged worried looks.


	4. Chapter 4

The bureau sometimes reminded Blaine of a beehive – there were agents coming and going, moving in a hurry through the offices, working on their cases, buzzing in excitement whenever they got a new lead, or in anger whenever things went wrong. He stood by the railing that gave him a view of the floor below and of the conference room where Kurt Hummel and his brother were sitting, waiting for the FBI to tell them what to do. It wasn't hard to notice how tense and helpless Kurt felt – he didn't look like the kind of man who liked to leave his fate on someone else's hands.

Agent Hart walked into the conference room and deposited two steamy cups of coffee on the table for them. Finn smiled and thanked him gently, but Kurt didn't move. He simply kept his hands intertwined and his eyes fixed on them, as if he could figure everything out just by focusing hard enough. Rachel was standing at a desk on the main floor, talking to Agent Evans, who was an expert on databases. Blaine had them working on trying to find a match to the identikit they had scored the night before, but by the looks on their faces, they weren't having much luck yet.

Suddenly, a hand rested on Blaine's forearm. He didn't need to look up to know who was there. He recognized the long, manicured nails and the gold wedding ring that he sometimes stared at, pretending he didn't feel a mixture of dread and jealousy.

"Santana, any news?" He asked, straightening up to look at her.

Santana shook her head. "Not yet. I was about to order food for everyone. It looks like we're going to be here for a while."

"You can go home if you want," Blaine offered quietly. "I know you don't like leaving Brittany alone for so long these days…"

"She's pregnant, not sick," Santana replied, and when Blaine looked at her, she shrugged, smiling in that sweet way that meant she was thinking of her wife. "That's what she likes to remind me of, at least."

"Still. You can…" Blaine began saying, but she interrupted.

"Look, of course I'd like to go home and have dinner with my wife, and finish painting that fucking nursery before my kid is twenty five and can actually paint it himself. But I also want to catch this asshole, and we've never been closer…"

"Do you really think we're closer? We have nothing, Santana."

"Well, someone's pessimist today," Santana crossed her arms over her chest and studied him carefully. "You look exhausted, Blaine. Maybe _you_ should go home."

"I'm fine," Blaine replied dismissively.

"That's what you've been saying for the past year. But we both know…"

"Santana, not now. I said I'm fine, and I mean it." Blaine looked at her in a way that reminded her he was her boss, not only her friend. She stopped talking, but she pressed her lips together tightly, showing her dissent.

"Whatever you say. Do you want anything to eat, then?" She asked dryly.

"No, I'm good. But make sure to get something for Hummel and his brother. And get them some decent coffee," Blaine said, looking at the untouched mug on the conference room's table.

She walked away without another word, leaving Blaine alone with his thoughts again. What was he going to do? He needed a new plan, and he needed to figure out what he was going to do with Kurt Hummel. The poor guy had nowhere safe to go…

As if he knew Blaine was thinking of him, Kurt glanced up and his blue eyes found Blaine's. They stared at each other for a moment, and Blaine did his best to give him a reassuring smile, but he had no energy left for it.

"Agent Anderson?" A voice behind him said. "My office, please."

Blaine turned and found Captain Jones standing at her office's threshold, holding the door open for him. If the bureau was a bee hive, then Captain Jones was its queen.

She was a stunning black woman, currently dressed in a smart navy skirt and blazer. She was the youngest woman to be promoted to such position in the history of the FBI, and everyone knew it was because of how hard she had worked since she had joined the agency. She had been a remarkable agent on the field, but she was even more efficient as a captain. Her agents trusted her, the rate of success in completed cases was off the charts since she had been promoted, and the high powers of the FBI were also aware of the positive impact of having a black woman in charge. Times were changing, and that change needed to be reflected in every single sphere.

Blaine ran his hands down his jacket to make sure it was a wrinkle-free as possible and followed her into the office. She pointed a seat at him, and he took it with a nod.

"I take it we have no developments," she commented. She stopped at a little table by the window where she kept a tea set. She poured a cup and handed it to Blaine.

Blaine accepted it out of courtesy, but he felt like he couldn't drink anything. He wouldn't be able to swallow it with the knot that had found its home in his throat. "Not yet, but I'm sure we'll have something soon."

"The situation's gotten worse, which is something I couldn't have imagined," Captain Jones said, as she took a seat behind her desk. She took a sip from her own tea. "We managed to score a witness, but now his security, and his family's, is being threatened. We need to act quickly."

"We're doing everything we can. I have Agent Berry and Agent Evans working on…" Blaine began saying. He didn't know why, but he felt like he was being judged, and he didn't like the feeling. He knew he still hadn't managed to close this case, to catch this killer, but he was a good agent.

"I know," Captain Jones interrupted, not ungently. She smiled at him softly, as if wanting to calm him. "I know you're doing everything you can. But we always need to do better, especially now."

Blaine nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Agent Lopez said you're looking particularly exhausted lately," Captain Jones commented then, startling Blaine with the sudden change of subject.

"I… I'm fine. Just a little stressed, but who isn't?" He replied, trying to brush her words off.

"I have to admit… I'm worried, Blaine." The sudden familiarity surprised him. She leaned across the desk to take a better look at him. "I know how hard this past year has been for you, and you refused to take time off after what happened. Anyone would have understood that you needed a break to… get back on your feet."

Blaine shifted uncomfortable in his seat. "I didn't need any time off. I like my job. I'm fine."

Captain Jones smiled sadly at him. "You're starting to sound like a broken record, Blaine."

"I just want to do my job," he said.

"We're sending Mr. Hummel and his brother to a safe location until we catch the suspect," she explained. "I think it would be a good time for you to take a step aside from this case, get some rest, maybe go on vacation. You have a very capable team that can handle this in your absence, and I will personally help them with anything they need…"

"No…" Blaine muttered, holding onto the armrests tightly.

"You're exhausted, you've been through a lot, and you still haven't taken the time to deal with it. I know you don't like the idea…"

"Please," Blaine said, leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk. "I don't need a break. I need to work. I need to be here and solve this case. I'll go insane if you send me away to sit on a beach for days on end. You think that would help me, but it's the opposite."

Captain Jones sighed and reclined against her seat, watching him. "You're just like your father. He was just as dedicated as you are. I didn't work with him long, but when you are like this… it's like having him back in the office."

Blaine took a deep breath. "Then you know there's no point in asking me to step aside from this."

She rubbed her temple as if she was starting to get a headache. "Fine. You Anderson boys are impossible."

"Great. Thank you," Blaine relaxed and even grabbed his cup of tea to have a sip.

"But we have to make a compromise," Captain Jones said. Her dark eyes were determined in a way that told Blaine that whatever she had decided, it wouldn't be possible to contradict her now. "You can stay on the case, but you have a new assignment."

Blaine didn't like the sound of that. He put the tea down and looked at her. "And what assignment is that?"

She smiled at him as she crossed her legs elegantly. "Your family still owns that ranch in Maryland, right?"

* * *

"You're making me dizzy."

Kurt stopped pacing around the conference room and looked at Finn. "I can't sit still any longer. This whole situation is beyond frustrating."

"I know. I want to go home, too, Kurt. But we have to wait and see what happens," Finn muttered, stretching his arms over his head to make his muscles pop. "They want to help us. We have to let them."

"We don't really have a choice," Kurt said. He stopped at the end of the table and placed his hands on it, leaning towards Finn. "I've never thought I'd say this, but I wish I could just go back to Ohio and hide with Dad for a while."

Finn's grin was crooked and nowhere near happy. "I know, me too. But part of me is glad he and Mom are gone, because it would kill them to think we are even a little bit in danger."

Kurt closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He thought of his Dad every day, but he had never thought of him as often as in the past twenty four hours. He didn't believe in Heaven or angels or the afterlife, but he wished he could ask his Dad for guidance, wherever he was.

The door opened and Agent Lopez walked into the conference room, carrying two big bags of Chinese takeout and a carton drink holder. She placed everything on the table and rummaged through the bags.

"Dinner's served," she announced. She then handed a Starbucks cup to Kurt. "The boss thought you could use some decent coffee and not the sewer water we're used to drinking here."

The warmth that passed through the paper cup right into Kurt's hands was an unexpected comfort. He smiled. "Thank you. That was very nice of him."

"Do you know when we're going to be able to get out of here? My brother's pretty tired. He didn't get enough sleep last night," Finn said, going into protective-mode.

Agent Lopez looked at them apologetically. "I'm afraid not. But I'll see if we can find you a quiet place where you can take a nap and lay down for a bit."

"What about…?" Kurt started saying, but his question was cut abruptly by the commotion outside the conference room.

Agent Anderson was standing at the door of an office on the second floor, and he didn't look happy. He was gesticulating wildly, speaking frantically to a woman who looked back at him like she wasn't impressed in the slightest. She replied calmly, but it was obvious Agent Anderson wasn't pleased with what he was hearing.

The entire bureau had gone quiet to watch the scene. From the conference room, Kurt didn't manage to hear much, except for the last few words, which were spoken in a much louder tone.

"It's either that, Agent Anderson, or you're off the case!" The woman snapped. "I can't have you leading this search when you're not in your best shape! Now, are you going to accept my conditions or should I just send you off on vacation for a few weeks?"

Kurt was sure that even from the distance, he could see a vein in Agent Anderson's neck pumping wildly.

"Fine!" Agent Anderson exclaimed, and stormed down the stairs. With one sharp look from him, everyone in the main floor went back to work like nothing had happened.

"Shit," Agent Lopez murmured under her breath. She turned on her heels and left the room to join Anderson. She tried placing a placating hand on his arm, but he jerked away from her.

"What the hell is that about?" Finn mumbled, his mouth already full of Chinese food.

Kurt frowned as he watched them. Lopez and Anderson were standing very close together, even though it was obvious he wasn't happy with her at the moment. It was almost intimate and Kurt felt compelled to look away. He wondered if there was something going on there beyond a professional relationship.

Casually, Kurt walked towards the door, trying to catch whatever they were saying.

"I did it because I care about you, you know that," Agent Lopez was saying very quietly.

Anderson was breathing heavily, like it was the most difficult thing he had done. "I've been working my ass off for this case… I can't believe she…"

"It's not like she's removing you from the case. You'll still be involved. And it's a very important assignment…" She watched him intently. "Blaine… we've all been worried. This will be good for you…"

"I'm not a child that needs to be looked after! I can take care of myself…"

The same woman that had been arguing with Agent Anderson just moments ago reappeared on the second floor landing. She walked down the stairs and headed straight for the conference room. Kurt moved closer to Finn so she wouldn't notice he had been eavesdropping.

When they saw her entering the room, both Lopez and Anderson followed her. Kurt leaned against the table, still holding his coffee, and Finn put down his food, distracted.

"Hi, I'm Captain Mercedes Jones," she said with a pleasant smile. "I'm very sorry we had to have you waiting here for so long. I understand how frustrating that must be…"

Agent Anderson walked past her and towards the ceiling high window. He stood there, watching the city on the other side of the glass, with his arms behind his back and his muscles stiff. Agent Lopez leaned against the door, a slight frown on her beautiful face.

"But we have determined it would be better if you were transferred to a safer location," Captain Jones continued.

"A safer location? What do you mean with that?" Finn asked.

"We consider it would be better for the two of you to leave New York for the time being," she explained calmly. "You would move into an FBI-approved location, and one of our agents would stay with you, until the suspect is caught."

But Finn was already shaking his head. "I can't leave New York."

Kurt wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea either. He knew he had just told his brother he wished he could go back to his childhood home, but this was not what he had had in mind. "We both have jobs. We can't just abandon everything and leave the state…"

Captain Jones' face was gentle and understanding, but there was a sharpness lying just underneath that told them it wouldn't be of much use to argue with this woman. "I understand, but this is a serious situation, Mr. Hummel. We're trying to keep both of you safe. I think that should be your priority now, too."

Kurt deflated. Just the day before he had been complaining about being in the ensemble, and now he was being told he couldn't go back to work. Even if it wasn't the most perfect job he had ever had, he still loved it. He didn't want to jeopardize it.

But that monster had been in his house, in his brother's house… if he stayed, if he wasn't safe… how long would it be until this psycho found him? How long would it be until his whole life derailed again?

"God, this is insane," he mumbled, hiding his face in his hands. He was so tired. "I can't believe this is happening."

"I'm not going," Finn said, making Kurt turn around sharply to face him. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I can't. I've worked too hard to be where I am now, and I can't risk it. If you had the lead in that musical, would you walk away from it, just like that? I could be the new quarterback before the end of the year. I don't want to screw it up…"

Kurt felt like he was choking. "Finn…"

"Please," Finn muttered desperately. "Don't ask me to do it. If you ask me to go with you, I won't be able to say no. Please, Kurt."

"But what if something happens to you?" Kurt dropped in the seat next to his brother's and held onto his arm. "He was in your apartment. What if he…? Finn, you're all I have left."

"I'm going to be okay," Finn assured him, but the anguish grew bigger and bigger in Kurt's chest. "I'll take care of myself."

"We can assign an agent to stay with him," Captain Jones interrupted. Her eyes fell on Kurt. "You're the one he's after, Mr. Hummel. You're the real target."

If Captain Jones thought those words were going to comfort him, she was wrong. Kurt held onto Finn's arm even harder, and looked at his brother with tear-filled eyes.

"You have to promise you'll be here when I come back," Kurt pleaded. "I'll come back, and I'll go to one of your games, and you'll be the quarterback, and this will be over."

"I promise," Finn smiled weakly at him, before looking up at Captain Jones. "Where are you taking him?"

Captain Jones shook her head. "That is classified information. The less people know about it, the better. But we'll take care of your brother. I give you my word."

"Of course," Finn accepted sadly.

Captain Jones turned to Agent Lopez. "Get Agent Berry. We'll set everything up."

"Is Agent Berry going to be with Kurt?" Finn asked nervously. "Is that who's going to take care of him?"

"No, Mr. Hudson," Captain Jones replied, glancing back at him. "But I'm assigning my best agent to take care of your brother."

"And who is that?" Finn wanted to know.

Finally, Agent Anderson spoke from his spot by the window. "That would be me."


	5. Chapter 5

Kurt was alone in the conference room, staring out the window with his arms around himself. He felt cold despite the warm June evening. In that same moment, two agents were in his apartment in the Lower East Side, going through his closet and stuffing whatever they considered necessary into a bag so Kurt could take a bit of his old life into this new, crazy one. But Kurt was reassured by getting to keep some of his own stuff around. He was actually freaked out that so many people had invaded his privacy, his safe haven, so many times in the past few hours. First a murderer who seemed to have some kind of vendetta against him, and now the FBI, forcing him to leave everything he loved and everything he had…

"Are you okay?"

Kurt startled. He had been on his own since Finn had been taken home a couple of hours ago. Saying goodbye to his brother hadn't been easy, either. He understood why Finn couldn't go with him, but that didn't mean Kurt wasn't going to worry himself sick until he got to see his brother again. If something happened to Finn…

Agent Anderson was standing at the door, watching him with a slight frown. Kurt hadn't noticed until now just how tired the man looked. He had removed his jacket at some point during the day, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His tie was looser around his neck, and he looked like he needed a good night's sleep.

When Kurt didn't reply immediately, Agent Anderson made a grim gesture. "Stupid question, I know," he murmured, walking into the conference room.

"I figure when people ask that question, what they want to hear is a positive answer," Kurt said tiredly. "I don't think I have enough energy left to lie like that now."

"I'm the kind of man who prefers the truth, no matter how bad it is," Agent Anderson replied, leaning against the table. "That's the only way to know what I'm dealing with."

Kurt sighed, glanced out the window again and followed the contours of the New York buildings with his eyes. _The city is beautiful in the spring_ , he thought. But then again, New York was the kind of city that looked lovely no matter what season it was. It was just one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with it. "I'm wondering when I'll be able to come home, where I'm going now, and if my brother will be okay. I'm scared that I'll lose everything I worked so hard for only because I was stupid enough to step into a dark alley in the middle of the night instead of…"

"You weren't stupid," Agent Anderson interrupted gently. His honey-colored gaze fell on Kurt. For a moment, he felt enveloped by warmth, as if he was suddenly under a cozy blanket. "You were very brave. You thought you could help, so you put your own safety aside to do it. You had no idea just how bad things were…"

Kurt shrugged. He wasn't feeling particularly brave right now.

"Now, I can't tell you exactly when you'll come home, or what you'll find when you return," Agent Anderson continued. "But I can promise you this: your brother will be okay. Agent Berry is one of my most trusted teammates. She's fierce, responsible and dedicated…"

"She's also tiny," Kurt said, biting his lip. He didn't mean to be insulting, but she looked like a little porcelain doll next to Finn…

To his surprise, Agent Anderson chuckled under his breath. "Don't let her size fool you. She can handle herself just fine. I would trust that woman with my own life."

Kurt only nodded, not wanting to offend Agent Anderson. He was about to leave the state with this man, after all. It wasn't a good idea to get on his bad side. Which brought him to his next question. "Can you tell me where we're going?"

Kurt must have sounded just as pitiful as he felt, because Agent Anderson looked truly sorry.

"Not yet," he said softly. "But we'll be leaving in about an hour, I'll tell you once we're on the road."

"Do I need my passport? Because I didn't tell your agents where to look for it."

"We're not leaving the country," Agent Anderson answered, and then stood straight and walked towards the door again. Kurt guessed the conversation was over. "I have to check everything's in order. Do you need anything?"

"Besides going home to my own bed and pretending this never happened?" Kurt asked sarcastically. "Nope, I think I'm good."

Agent Anderson smiled sadly, gave him a short nod, and left the room. Kurt turned back to the window. He had to memorize the view in case he never got to see New York again.

* * *

Finn Hudson owned a two-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village. Back when he was a teenager, living in the suburbs in Ohio, he had never seen himself as a big city man. He had imagined he would stay near home, maybe take over his stepfather's business, marry a nice girl and have a couple of kids. He imagined an ordinary life. But then his career in football had taken off, and he knew he was meant for bigger things. He knew he wasn't supposed to settle with a small town life.

Still, no matter how good Finn had become at dreaming, he would have never imagined going through something like this.

Agent Berry followed him into the living room. She was carrying a small duffle bag and Finn could see the outline of her gun under her jacket. It was certainly unnerving.

"Uh, make yourself comfortable. There's plenty of food in the kitchen, but if there's anything you want that's not there, let me know and we can get it," he said awkwardly. He wasn't sure what the right thing to say or do was in a situation like this. He had never had a bodyguard before. And if he would have ever needed one, he probably would have chosen someone that resembled more a gorilla. Rachel Berry looked like a big-eyed ballerina.

"Thank you," she replied with an equally awkward smile. "I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me."

There was a particularly long silence, and neither seemed to know how to fill it. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, and then looked pointedly down at her bag.

"Oh! Let me show you to the guest room," Finn exclaimed, and immediately headed down the hallway. "It's not perfect, but you should be comfortable. I never finished setting it up. Kurt's more into decorating than me. I didn't have the time to do much, so…" he stopped talking when he realized he was practically babbling. What was it about this woman that made him so nervous? Finn figured it had to with the gun, mostly.

"Like I said, I'll be fine. As long as there's a bed where I can sleep, I won't complain," Agent Berry said.

The room wasn't very small, but it looked like it was because Finn had been using it mostly as a storage room over the past couple of months. He hadn't been living there for long, and there were things he hadn't gotten around to unpack just yet. He began moving a few boxes around to make a clear path to the bed.

"I'll put the boxes somewhere else tomorrow, I promise," he said apologetically. He cleared his throat and looked at her, but then looked away. His palms were sweaty. What the hell? "I'll go get you some towels and clean sheets. Please, make yourself comfortable."

He heard her quiet thanks as he closed the door behind him. He was just tired, that was all. He needed to sleep. Things would be much easier in the morning…

Finn thought of his brother, and hoped Kurt was handling the situation a lot better than he was.

* * *

If he had been perfectly honest, Blaine would have preferred to take a helicopter. He and Captain Jones had considered the option and realized it would catch unwanted attention. So Blaine was stuck behind the wheel for the next four hours.

He reached for the travel mug on the cup holder and took a sip of lukewarm coffee a little too greedily. The coffee was as awful as usual, but he hoped it would keep him awake for the rest of the drive.

Blaine had imagined Mr. Hummel would fidget on the seat besides his all the way to Maryland, asking questions that Blaine wasn't sure how to answer yet. But Mr. Hummel must have been a lot more exhausted than he had been willing to admit, because he was fast asleep before they were even out of Manhattan.

Despite everything, Blaine was glad for the sudden quiet it provided. He hadn't been exactly eager to follow Captain Jones' orders, and if it wasn't because he had to keep Mr. Hummel safe, he would have turned the car around and gone back to the office. He needed to work with his team, to search for new evidence, to get this bastard. Blaine had been after him for ten months now, and he had never been this close; he had never had as many clues as he did now…

Blaine wasn't desperate to be open and honest with anyone else, but it was time to admit it to himself, at least. It wasn't just that he wanted to get his job done. He didn't want to leave New York because he hadn't been back to Maryland since before everything had happened the previous year. He wasn't looking forward to the memories. He wasn't looking forward to having enough silence and time to think about that night…

Before the images could flash before his eyes like a horror movie, he reached for the radio and turned it on. A mindless pop song filled the car, and Blaine quickly adjusted the volume so it wouldn't wake Mr. Hummel. It was better to let him rest.

* * *

Kurt opened his eyes, and immediately felt slightly disoriented. It took him a minute to remember why he was on a car. As he stared out the window, he only saw darkness and fields that stretched as far as he could see. When he turned his head, he saw Agent Anderson driving, both his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He seemed tense, and Kurt wondered if he was worried he would fall asleep while driving. He didn't look very good.

"Where are we?" Kurt asked in a sleepy voice, as he sat up.

Agent Anderson seemed startled to hear his voice, like he had forgotten he was there at all. "Oh, hey. We just entered Maryland."

"Maryland?" Kurt repeated. He rubbed his eyes and looked out his window again. "How long was I asleep?" But before Agent Anderson could reply, Kurt asked another question: "Do you want me to drive? You look like you could use a nap. Just tell me where we're going and I can take it from here."

"No need," Agent Anderson replied. "We're almost there."

Kurt arched an eyebrow, and took a third look around. Almost _where_? He couldn't see anything that could even suggest a destination. He squinted his eyes, trying to figure out what those shapes in the distance were. Oh… could those be…? "Are those _cows_?"

Agent Anderson glanced at him and frowned before focusing back on the road. "Yes? Have you never seen a cow before?"

"Of course I've seen cows!" Kurt exclaimed, a little irritated. "What I mean is… are we staying in some kind of inn? A hotel in a little town, maybe? You're not going to make me camp in some field in the middle of nowhere, right? Because I'm not an outdoorsy man. I don't like bugs. Or tents. Or the lack of bathrooms."

For a moment, it looked like Agent Anderson was amused, but then he went back to having that tired air he had been carrying all day. "No, I'm not taking you camping. But we're also not going to a hotel or inn. We have to go as unnoticed as possible. Checking in a hotel could be risky, even if we used fake names."

Kurt sighed and let his head drop back against the seat. "Right. I almost forgot we're in an episode of Criminal Minds here…"

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be comfortable where we're going." Agent Anderson took a turn into a dirt road. Kurt liked this less and less with every second.

"And will I get to know exactly where we're going at some point?" Kurt asked. He wasn't a very patient man when he was running on a combination of lack of sleep and lack of caffeine.

At that very moment, Agent Anderson stopped in front of a wooden gate. There was a sign next to it, but it was too dark for Kurt to read it. The fence seemed to surround a rather large property, and if Kurt wasn't mistaken, he could see a house not too far from there.

"We're here," Agent Anderson announced. "Welcome to the Anderson ranch, Mr. Hummel."

Agent Anderson got off the car and headed for the gate. He extracted a set of keys from his jacket pocket and opened it. When he began to drive the car down the path towards the house, the headlights fell on the sign. _Bahay Ranch_.

Once Agent Anderson had parked the car in front of the house, Kurt opened the door and descended, happy to be able to stretch his legs. He was suddenly aware of the silence that surrounded him. The sound of Agent Anderson's footsteps as he walked towards the back of the car to retrieve their bags from the trunk seemed to echo loudly in the distance. Kurt felt compelled to shushing him, as if scared he would wake up the entire state. But it was hard to worry about that, because right there, in the middle of the night, with no other houses visible in the distance, they could have been the only two people in all of Maryland.

"Shall we?" Agent Anderson muttered, nodding towards the front door.

It was a one-story house. There were three steps leading up to a porch that was surrounded by a wooden banister. The two front windows were big, but closed tightly, as if no one had been there in a while. Agent Anderson used his key to open the door, and stepped inside, immediately finding the light switch. Kurt found himself standing in a small dining room slash living room. Everything around him was wooden, from the furniture to the walls. Despite the rather warm temperature, Kurt felt like he had stepped into a cabin made for a winter wonderland – the temptation to sit in front of the fireplace with a blanket and a good book was almost too hard to resist.

Agent Anderson dropped their bags on the big beige sofa. It wasn't stylish in the slightest, but it looked comfortable. Kurt watched as Agent Anderson switched a few more lights on, and then went into the adjacent kitchen. He opened a few cabinets and the fridge before facing Kurt again.

"There isn't much food, but we'll get some tomorrow," he explained. "Feel free to use anything you need."

"I would love a shower, if that's possible?" Kurt asked a little shyly. He had been wearing the same clothes for over a day, and if he couldn't shower and change into clean clothes soon, he would go insane.

"Of course," Agent Anderson nodded immediately. He grabbed Kurt's bag from the couch and made a gesture for him to follow. "Here, let me show you where the bathroom is."

The house wasn't very large. They went down a short hallway with three doors in it. Agent Anderson showed him the bathroom and then pointed at the door next to it. "This is will be your bedroom. I'll check if there's clean sheets while you shower. If there's anything you need when you're out, I'll be in the living room."

Kurt was about to thank him when a yawn interrupted him. He covered his mouth a little embarrassed and looked at Agent Anderson apologetically. "I think I'll be going straight to bed, if that's okay?"

"That's fine, Mr. Hummel," Agent Anderson answered gently. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah, you can say that again," Kurt smiled at him, but there was nothing happy about the gesture.

"Let me know if you need anything," Agent Anderson said, and after Kurt nodded his agreement, he walked away.

Despite his nap in the car, Kurt realized he was still exhausted. He stepped into the shower and almost moaned in pleasure at the perfect pressure of the hot water against his back. He could feel some of the tension he had been carrying around all day wash away.

* * *

When he went into the bedroom, he didn't even bother looking around. His eyes immediately found the bed and his tired feet led him straight to it. He lifted the blankets and slipped into it, not caring that his hair would be a disaster the next morning because he hadn't bothered drying it first. As soon as his head touched the pillow, Kurt was asleep, eager to leave that day behind.

He wasn't sure what the next would bring, but it couldn't get any worse, right?

When Blaine heard the bedroom door closing, he knew he wouldn't see Mr. Hummel until the morning. He removed his jacket and folded it over the back of the couch, before unhooking the gun holster and putting it carefully on the coffee table. The house was as quiet as a cemetery now.

For once in the past few months, Blaine was happy to be dead tired. He allowed himself to fall onto the couch, the cushions molding around him as if they were getting ready to swallow his entire body. He grabbed a throw pillow and slipped it behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, letting the situation sink in.

He had no idea how long they would have to stay there. Blaine had been with the bureau long enough to be realistic – finding a suspect wasn't the kind of thing he could schedule. He knew they could find the killer in a week, a month, a year or never. Maybe everything could be resolved in the blink of an eye. Or maybe the case would eventually go cold and the bureau would move onto something newer, something more urgent. Blaine didn't like it when that happened, but he knew how things were. You couldn't be stuck in just one case forever. There were new cases on his desk on a daily basis. The world didn't stop for just one criminal.

But Kurt Hummel's world had stopped for this killer. And so did all the other victims' worlds.

His eyes fell on the framed picture sitting on a shelf. The four smiling faces in it talked of a different time, a different life all together. Blaine also knew what it was like for your whole world to stop, he thought bitterly.

The silence and the exhaustion finally lulled him to sleep. He had no idea what the next day would bring, but whatever it was, Blaine hoped it would be good.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt woke up to a pool of his own drool on the pillow. He wiped his mouth sleepily as he sat up, feeling his whole body was a mixture of relaxed and tense at the same time. He felt loose after such a deep sleep, but there was a tension on his shoulders he couldn't seem to get rid of…

And when he looked around the unfamiliar bedroom, he remembered why.

He wasn't in New York anymore. He was in Maryland – of all places – hiding from a serial killer. Because his life had become a rather disturbing Michael Connelly novel.

He sighed. At least he would be safe here. Who would ever think to chase him all the way to Maryland?

The bedroom he was in was lovely, he noticed, glad to find anything to distract him. The bed was big and comfortable, and the maroon walls helped carry out the cabin-in-the-middle-of-nowhere theme. There was a large framed picture of the ranch hanging over the headboard, clearly taken decades ago, probably when the Anderson family had just bought it. The house was different back then, half-built and slightly sad-looking, but Kurt could see the potential for what it had become. It had clearly taken a lot of hard work to get it to where it was now. Kurt might not be the kind of person who enjoyed spending time in ranches, but this was obviously a beautiful place.

Kurt tried to perceive any sounds from the rest of the house, but it was dead silent. Agent Anderson was probably still sleeping – the poor man had looked almost ready to pass out by the time they had arrived the previous night, and Kurt couldn't blame him. But now that he was up, he didn't want to stay in bed any longer. He wanted to look around the house, maybe (hopefully) find some coffee, and figure out what he was supposed to do until this whole ordeal was over. But mostly the coffee part.

He got out of bed, made a quick stop at the bathroom (god, his hair really _was_ disastrous!) and walked down the hallway towards the living room. There was another door in the hallway, and it was closed, so Kurt guessed it was Agent Anderson's bedroom, and he had been right to think he was still sleeping.

The kitchen was practically empty, but he did manage to find an unopened bag of coffee and a coffee maker. He almost wept in relief. There was no milk or creamer, but he at least he wouldn't have caffeine withdrawals. While he waited for the pot to filled – tapping his fingers impatiently on the kitchen counter – Kurt decided to look around the living room.

There were three bookcases filled with a mixture of books, pictures and different ornaments. Kurt ran a finger over the book spines, seeing if he could find any of his favorites. He spotted several classics he had never gotten around to read, some cook books and lots of books related to life in farms and ranches. The pictures caught his eye next – most of them featured the same couple throughout the years, sitting on the porch, at a fair, riding horses, laughing and holding hands. They looked happy, like the kind of people you wished were your grandparents so you could sit next to them and let them tell you stories for hours. Kurt figured they were Agent Anderson's grandparents. He thought there was something very familiar in the way the woman's eyes wrinkled when she smiled, even if Kurt hadn't seen Agent Anderson smiling out of sheer happiness.

In the rest of the photographs, it didn't take long for Kurt to recognize Agent Anderson. In most of them, he was still a boy or a teenager. He seemed happy and carefree, the way kids should always look. His parents seemed loving, always with their arms around each other and their kids. The other boy, Agent Anderson's brother, Kurt guessed, was an extremely handsome boy, several years older. He was obviously an adult in the most recent picture, where Agent Anderson had to be around fifteen or sixteen. Kurt wondered if they were close, or it was hard for them to find things to bond over with the age gap that separated them…

Before he could finish looking at all the pictures, he heard a sound coming from outside the house. He frowned and walked towards the window to see what it was. He was shocked to find an old man with skin almost golden from working in the sun, wearing dirty jean coveralls, and accompanied by a shepherd dog that wouldn't stop wagging its tail. The man seemed just as shocked to see Kurt, but waved in greeting nonetheless.

Kurt opened the door when the man walked up the steps towards it. "Hello."

"Hey there!" The man said, with a heavy accent Kurt couldn't place. "I didn't know someone was here. Is Mr. Blaine with you?"

"Uhm, yes, he's here," Kurt replied. "I'm sorry, but you are…?"

"Oh, I'm Manuel," the man said with a friendly smile. "I'm the keeper. I thought it was weird to see a car, because señor Blaine didn't tell me he was coming…"

"I'm afraid it was a bit of an impromptu getaway," a voice said, and Kurt saw Blaine approaching the house from the path. He was sweaty, wearing gym clothes, and had obviously gone for a run. "I'm sorry I didn't call, Manuel. I didn't mean to worry you…"

Manuel's smile got even bigger, and he was clearly happy to see Agent Anderson. "Señor Blaine! Benditos los ojos que lo ven! How have you been? It's been too long…"

"I'm good, Manuel, thank you. I've been busy, that's all," Agent Anderson replied, joining the other two on the porch. "How are you? How's your leg?"

"Old, just like me, but it hasn't stopped me yet," Manuel said with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, I'm so rude. Is he your fiancé? It was time for you to bring him here…"

Kurt parted his lips to correct the man, but Agent Anderson, after hesitating for a moment, nodded.

"Yes, this is my fiancé," he said, earning a confused look from Kurt. "We've both been busy, but it's nice to be here."

Manuel extended a hand to Kurt. "It's nice to finally meet you!"

"You too," Kurt said, hoping he didn't sound as out of place as he thought he did. "My name's Kurt Hu…"

"Haymes," Agent Anderson interrupted. He wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist and gave it a firm, pointed squeeze. "Kurt Haymes."

"Well, I'm glad you two are here," Manuel said, not noticing anything unusual. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Actually, yes," Agent Anderson said, giving the man a gentle smile. "Coming here was so unplanned that we didn't bring any food. Would you mind making a trip to the supermarket in town? We have to finish unpacking and…"

"Of course, señor Blaine, no problem at all," Manuel replied immediately. "Just make a list of what you need, and I'll come pick it up in an hour. I'm going to feed the animals in the meantime."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Manuel walked away, waving over his shoulder. The dog stayed, wagging his tail at Agent Anderson until he got down on one knee to scratch behind his ears and give him a belly rub.

"Uhm," Kurt muttered. "What the hell was that?"

"Manuel has been working here since I was kid, but even though I trust him, we can't take any risks," Agent Anderson explained. Kurt tried very hard not to follow the drop of sweat that was making its way down the column of his neck. "It's better if he doesn't know your real name."

"Okay…" Kurt nodded, because he could understand that. "And what about our engagement?"

"I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable," Agent Anderson said, standing up and looking at Kurt. "But it's a good excuse. I haven't been here in over a year, and the last he must have heard of me is that I was engaged. Why else would I have brought you here?"

Kurt knew it made sense. He would have just liked to know in advance so he could act more convincing. "Alright. But won't your actual fiancé be upset when he finds out?"

"Don't worry about that," Agent Anderson answered, making a dismissive gesture with his hand as he walked into the house. Kurt followed him. "You made coffee? Great. I've been dying for a cup…"

"Agent Anderson…" Kurt started, but he was instantly interrupted.

"It's Blaine," he said. "It would be weird if you called me Agent Anderson in front of Manuel."

"Right…" Kurt leaned against the counter and watched as Agent… as _Blaine_ poured himself a cup of coffee. "Is there any chance anyone from your family might stop by and realize I'm not your actual fiancé, though?"

Blaine stopped with his cup halfway to his mouth. His eyes found Kurt's. "No. There's absolutely no chance of that happening."

"Okay." Kurt shifted awkwardly on his spot. "Look, I just…"

"Mr. Hummel," Blaine cut him off in a soft tone of voice. "I know you're nervous. I know this isn't ideal in any way. But I promise it'll be okay. Let's think of it as a… vacation of sorts. We'll stay here for a few days until things are resolved and then we both get to go back to our busy lives."

"Forced vacations, you mean?" Kurt muttered, rolling his eyes. Blaine nodded and poured him a cup of coffee, extending it to him as a peace offering. Kurt accepted it eagerly. "Fine. I guess I can do that."

"Perfect," Blaine smiled at him.

"Just one condition," Kurt said, and Blaine raised his eyebrows in question. "Call me Kurt?"

"Kurt it is," Blaine replied, and then clicked their mugs together as if they were toasting to a new beginning.

* * *

Santana finished buttoning her shirt before adjusting the gun holster to her belt. She was reaching for her jacket when she heard a huge sigh coming from the bed behind her. Santana's dark eyes found her wife's blue ones as she opened them to the new day.

"Good morning," Santana said, her voice softer than usual. If anyone could bring out her nicer side, it was her wife. "How'd you sleep?"

"A little better. But I wish our baby wasn't such a night owl," Brittany said, yawning. She ran a hand down her voluptuous belly, before letting all her attention center on her wife. "Are you leaving again? When did you even get home?"

Santana sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand next to her wife's. The baby was still, finally not kicking or moving around. "About an hour ago. I just needed a shower. And to see you," her smile was warm and loving as she looked at Brittany.

But Brittany frowned. "You must be exhausted. Can't you stay home for a few hours, take a nap?"

"I wish I could, honey. But with Blaine away, I'm in charge of the team. He's counting on me to catch this guy," Santana explained. She buried her fingers in Brittany's long blonde hair and pulled her into a kiss gently. She missed being home with her wife. She missed having time to work on the nursery, and shopping for baby clothes, and being there whenever the baby kicked. But she knew her job was important too. She couldn't take a break now.

Brittany pressed their foreheads together and let out a long sigh. "I feel like I barely see you anymore. I miss you…"

Santana groaned. "Oh honey, don't make me feel worse. You know there's nowhere else I'd rather be…"

"Then give me a couple of hours. One hour. Whatever extra time you can give me," Brittany pleaded, hands making fists on Santana's sleeves, as if desperate to keep her close. "And then you can go. But stay for just a little bit…"

Brittany was warm and soft, and her kisses were so sweet after tasting nothing but bitter coffee all night. Santana closed her eyes, trying to find some self-control to stand up and go to work, but Brittany gave her no time to pull herself together. She sat up, blankets slipping down and revealing her silky nightgown, the pale blue one that ended at the top of her thighs and barely covered her breasts anymore.

"You're not playing fair…" Santana whispered, as Brittany trailed kisses down her jaw.

"I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes to get you to stay a little longer…"

Santana felt her breath catch in her throat. " _Whatever_ it takes?"

Brittany's fingers quickly and expertly unbuttoned her shirt. "Get into bed and you can find out…"

"Oh goddamn it," Santana said, her knees already feeling weak. "One hour."

"That's all I need…" Brittany murmured, and her hand slipped under Santana's bra.

Santana unhooked the gun from her belt and put it on the nightstand. She was known to make the toughest criminals cry like little babies, but when it came to her wife, Santana melted like ice on a summer day.

New York could survive without her for one hour.

* * *

Kurt was bored. He had been in this place for less than a day and he was missing the city like he had been away for years. He missed the theatre, his apartment, his brother, his friends. He missed having a Starbucks at every corner whenever he needed a caffeine fix. He even missed the noise – the traffic zooming by as he walked to the subway station, the New Yorkers talking on their phones as they navigated the sidewalks, paying no attention to anyone around them. He missed Central Park, and even the homeless man who slept by the bank and always complimented his outfits, although Kurt suspected he was being ironic most of the times.

He wasn't made for life in a ranch. There really wasn't much to do – there was only so many times a person could change the channels on the television to finally admit there was nothing good on, and even though a few of the books on the shelves looked interesting, Kurt wasn't sure if he was allowed to read them. Blaine hadn't been around enough to ask him, either.

Agent Anderson had spent most of the morning outside, with his phone glued to his ear and talking to the bureau. Kurt was glad that he was so invested in catching this guy, because it meant that Kurt would get to go home soon if they succeeded, but he wouldn't have minded the company. Anything was better than this silence – it was becoming suffocating.

Kurt decided to venture outside. Maybe he could go for a walk, know the ranch a little better. When he stepped onto the porch, he shaded his eyes from the sunlight, looking around for Blaine, until he saw him, still on his phone and with the dog following him as he walked towards the gates. Kurt considered going after him, but decided to leave him alone. If he was working, it was better not to disturb him. Instead, he walked towards the back of the house to see what else the ranch had to offer.

There was a stable and a few fenced areas. He couldn't see where the Anderson territory ended, so he guessed it was larger than he had originally thought. He could see Manuel, filling a huge trough with water using a hose. A brown calf immediately approached him to have a drink.

"Señor Haymes! Nice to see you again. Are you having a look around?" Manuel asked, smiling at him when he saw him.

"Yeah. I've never been in a ranch before. I was curious," Kurt shrugged. "Have you worked here long?"

"Practically all my life," Manuel answered. "Blaine's grandmother hired me when I was a young man, and I had recently married my Daniela. We needed a place to live and she helped us. I still live in the same house she gave us. It's right there, you see it?" Manuel pointed in the distance, and Kurt could see a one-story house at the end of the ranch. "We raised three kids there, and sent them to college. We had a good life here."

"Does Daniela help you in the ranch?" Kurt asked.

"She did. She used to feed the animals, milk the cows, gather the eggs the chicken lay. I did the heavier stuff, like mowing the lawn or repair things that needed repairing. I built this stable, see?" Manuel showed him the stable proudly. "But my Daniela died, four years ago. So now it's just me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Kurt started saying, but Manuel waved his apologies away.

"No need to worry. I don't mind talking about her. I miss her every day, but it makes me happy to remember her."

Manuel offered to give him a quick tour of the ranch, and since he had nothing better to do, Kurt agreed. He liked how much Manuel seemed to love what he did – Kurt couldn't have imagined that someone could love a simple life like this one so much. It made him wonder why he had always thought he needed the stage lights on his face in order to feel complete, while others found true happiness with so much less.

Kurt liked the horses the most. He had always thought of them as pretty majestic creatures, and seeing these ones only accentuated that. They were powerful and beautiful, strong and calm all at once. He carefully ran a hand down one's side – it was gorgeous animal, all black except for a white circle around one of his eyes.

"That's Blaine's horse, Phantom. He used to come here every weekend when he was younger just so he could ride him around the ranch. He would spend the entire day with him. Then life got in the way, I guess," Manuel explained, handing Kurt a carrot to feed the horse. "He's a proud animal, a little impatient, but very loyal once you get through to him."

"He's gorgeous," Kurt said, as he watched the horse chew on the carrot. "What about the others?"

"The white one, Knight, belonged to Blaine's brother. And this one right here is Pearl, Mrs. Anderson's horse. She's very gentle. Would you like to take her out for a ride?"

Kurt looked at the sand-colored horse next to Phantom. She had sweet eyes, and wasn't as big as Phantom or Knight looked. She was a lot less intimidating. But he still wasn't sure… "I don't know. I've never ridden a horse before. Maybe it's not a good idea."

"You're in a ranch, señor Haymes. What else are you going to do while you are here?" Manuel asked, laughing.

Kurt found that it was a very interesting question. He had no idea what he was going to do while he was there, except for going insane very, very slowly.

"Okay, fine, let's try it."

* * *

Blaine didn't even wait to hear the greeting on the other end to charge ahead.

"I've been trying to contact Santana all morning and I can't reach her," he said. "What's going on? She always picks up the phone. It's like it's part of her. What if she…?"

"Anderson," Captain Jones' voice cut him off, already sounding impatient with him. "Santana was here all night, and left a couple of hours ago to shower and see her wife. She's probably getting some sleep, which she deserves, if you ask me."

"That's not what I said. I just want to know what's going on there," Blaine walked all the way to the gate and looked to his sides – there was nothing but endless green and dirt roads. "I don't like being away from the case and you know it. I could have been a lot more useful if I had stayed there, and someone else could have…"

"You're the best agent we have, Blaine," Mercedes interrupted. "I'm proud of the amazing team we have here, but you know I wouldn't trust Hummel's safety to anyone but you. Plus, you were in desperate need of a break…"

"A break? I'm not on a break. I'm working. I have to be alert in case…"

"In case a cow wants to eat him? Blaine, you're in Middle of Nowhere, Maryland. What the hell could go wrong there?" Mercedes chuckled, which didn't do much to help Blaine's mood. "The only thing that could potentially kill Hummel there is boredom. Just relax, make sure he's okay, and let us deal with everything here, please? I know it's hard for you, but you'll thank me in the end."

"I don't see that happening…" Blaine muttered in a monotone, as he turned around to face the house. His eyes widened and he gaped like a fish for a moment or two until he snapped into action. "I have to go. I'll call back for updates later."

"Don't you dare call back, Ander–"

Blaine hung up and ran back towards the house. He could see Manuel standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and a pleased look on his face, and the absolute terror on Kurt's eyes as he sat stiff as a pole on Pearl. Blaine knew the horse was very gentle, but she was also quite easily scared. He still remembered a memorable afternoon when his mother was riding her and ended up on her butt in the mud because they came across a mouse.

"Kurt!" He exclaimed. He came to a stop when he was ten feet away from the horse. "Stay still, I'll help you down."

Pearl was pacing so slowly, the alarm in Blaine's voice sounded ridiculous.

"He's doing just fine, señor Blaine!" Manuel said, grinning. "Just let him learn."

 _If he falls and breaks his neck on my watch, I will end up working as a security guard in a mall_ , Blaine thought, approaching Pearl with his arms extended toward her and making what he hoped were calming sounds.

"This is the most uncomfortable thing I have ever done," Kurt murmured, as if afraid speaking at a normal volume would make the horse go crazy. "And that's saying something."

"He has a great posture," Manuel said from behind them.

Blaine was shocked to see Kurt beam at that. His back was straight as an arrow, with his legs tucked in closely against Pearl's body.

"Just stick your butt out a little," Manuel added, and Kurt turned towards him with a frown.

"Excuse me?" He sounded almost scandalized.

"Show your fiancé, señor Blaine. You were always a natural!" Manuel said, nodding along to his own idea, as if it was the greatest thing he had ever thought of.

Blaine wanted to glare at him, but managed to control himself. They had to keep their cover, no matter how frustrating everything was. "I don't think…"

Pearl trotted away a few steps, heading to the small pond behind the stable. Kurt tightened his grip on the reins, looking nervous.

"Why did I think this was a good idea?" He mumbled.

Blaine sighed and went after him. He grabbed the reins and made Pearl stay still, shushing her as he did to keep her calm. Then he placed his hands on Kurt's waist. "I'm sorry," he said under his breath, so Manuel wouldn't hear. "Just like this." He corrected the posture, sliding Kurt's butt back a few inches.

Kurt looked down at him with wide blue eyes. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome. Do you want me to help you down?" Blaine asked, and realized his hands were still on Kurt's waist, so he removed them immediately.

"Is there anything else to do here?" Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, I may end up falling on my head, but I'm starting to think it's worth taking the risk."

Blaine shook his head, a smile coming to his lips. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Hummel," he whispered, just so Kurt could hear. Then he turned back to Manuel, who was watching them as if nothing could make him happier. "Can you get Phantom ready?"

"You're going to give me a lesson?" Kurt asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"It's either that or helping Manuel clean the henhouse," Blaine replied.

Kurt's face couldn't have shown more reject and disgust if he had tried. "I think I'm ready for my lesson, then."

A few minutes later, while Blaine was riding Phantom right next to Pearl, talking quietly as he instructed Kurt how to get the horse to go where he wanted, his cellphone started vibrating where he had left it on the porch for safety before joining Kurt. Santana was finally returning his calls, but for once, Blaine had forgotten all about work.

He wouldn't admit it even to himself, but the way Kurt smiled when he got something right had a lot to do with it.


	7. Chapter 7

Things hadn't been easy the first morning at Finn's apartment. Apparently either of them were human enough before the first cup of coffee, so when Rachel walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes sleepily, dressed in a fluffy pink robe and going straight for the coffee pot, Finn screamed, raised a pan in the air and almost hit her in the head with it. Rachel instinctively reached for her gun and pointed it at him with practiced ease. Finn dropped the pan on his foot, quickly putting his hands up in defense.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

After they both apologized a million times for their reactions, Finn poured a cup of coffee for each of them and they sat at the breakfast bar, avoiding looking at each other for a few minutes, until Finn's stomach growled so loudly they both burst into hysterical laughter. Rachel offered to make some pancakes, hoping to finally dissipate the tension in the air, and Finn agreed with an eager nod.

"So… I have a game tonight," Finn commented as he watched Rachel move around his kitchen. It felt weird. When he had female overnight guests, they were usually out the door before breakfast. "How does that work? Do you come with me? Do you stay here and I send you updates…?"

"I'm coming with you," Rachel replied. She opened the fridge to get the butter. "I'm supposed to be with you at all times, and that includes games. I'll stay out of sight in case the suspect shows up – we don't want to scare him off before we have the chance to catch him."

"This is the craziest thing that has ever happened to me," Finn murmured, still a bit shocked. He watched Rachel in silence for a moment, before he cleared his throat and asked the question that had been bothering him all night. "So… have you heard from anyone about Kurt? Is he okay?"

"No, I haven't heard anything. I'm sorry," Rachel said, sounding genuinely sad to not be able to give Finn any updates. "But… no news is actually excellent news. It means Agent Anderson is taking care of him and no one's found them yet."

"What's the deal with this agent Anderson guy?" Finn asked, curiously. "He was nice to us, but he seemed so serious."

"Well, he's just focused on his job. We all are. He's just… a little more intense about it than most of us. But he's a great guy." Rachel put the first pancake on a plate and handed it to Finn. "No one's better than him to take care of your brother."

"So I keep hearing," Finn said with a sigh. "I'm just afraid Kurt's going to need someone to be there for him during this whole thing, and maybe agent Anderson isn't the best guy for that."

"You and Mr. Hummel seem very close. That's nice. I'm an only child, and I've always been jealous of people who have brothers or sisters to share everything with," Rachel said, leaning against the counter to look at Finn.

"We were lucky. I had a lot of mixed feelings when my mom told me she and Kurt's dad were getting married. I was a teenager, and I wasn't looking forward to moving to a new house with a brand new family. But it was the best thing that ever happened to us."

Rachel smiled softly at him. She stayed quiet for a moment, cradling the spatula. "So what's the verdict on the pancakes?"

Finn had a mouthful and had to moan his response. "Best. Thing. Ever."

Rachel beamed at him proudly, and the morning went a lot better from there.

* * *

If there was one thing Kurt loved about the ranch, it was the shower. The hot water never seemed to run off, as it did in his apartment in New York, and the way the spray hit his back was strong and perfect, getting rid of all the tension that had been residing on his shoulders since all this _I-saw-a-murder-and-now-the-FBI-is-hiding-me-away_ thing had started.

He got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and stared at his own reflection on the foggy mirror. He looked tired – it was impossible not to go through something like this without feeling like every single second of the day was a reason for fatigue. Riding a horse hadn't exactly helped either, even though it had distracted him for a while. The day on the ranch was excruciatingly long without just sitting around the house waiting for everything to be over.

He wondered how Finn was doing. He knew his brother had a game that night, and it felt weird for Kurt to be so far away on a game night. He usually attended if work didn't get in the way, or at the very least called him to wish him good luck while he was at the theatre. When Finn's team won, Kurt took him out for a beer after they were both free. When they lost, Finn came over for lasagna and a movie.

Kurt's lasagna had always made Finn smile, no matter what.

Before thinking about his brother made Kurt sad, he toweled his hair dry, put on clean pajamas and left the bathroom, without another glance towards the mirror. He felt weird, like the man returning the gaze wasn't him anymore. So much had changed in such a short time.

He went into the kitchen, which was flooded with a delicious smell coming from the oven, something warm and inviting that sent a comforting sensation through Kurt, as if homemade food could fix everything. He found Blaine sitting at the table, surrounded by files and reading through them attentively. He had obviously run his fingers through his hair a few times, because the locks had escaped their tidy prison of gel and returned to its natural curly state. He was wearing thick-framed glasses, and he had unbuttoned his polo shirt, revealing a bit of hairy chest. This was the most casual Kurt had ever seen him, and he doubted it ever got more casual than that.

"It smells great in here," Kurt commented, standing awkwardly by the door.

Blaine startled. He had obviously been absolutely immersed in what he was reading and hadn't noticed Kurt was there. "Oh. Yes, I made a chicken casserole. It should be ready in a few minutes."

"That sounds amazing. Is there anything I can do to help?" Kurt asked, eager to feel useful.

"Let me move all this to the living room and maybe you can help me set the table?" Blaine offered, standing up and grabbing the files.

Kurt helped him. "Are all these about our case?"

"No, these are other cases I need to work on," Blaine replied. "I've been focused on catching this murderer, and work keeps piling up on my desk."

"Do you specifically work on murder cases or you take any cases you can get?" Kurt was curious. The very few things he knew about the FBI were mostly from TV shows, and he had never been a fan of those, either.

"I usually work in murder cases," Blaine answered. They piled the files on the couch. Kurt was dying to thumb through a few of them, but he wasn't sure if Blaine would like that. "When I first started, I was actually mostly involved in fraud cases. But then I switched to homicides."

"Why?" Kurt asked, as they opened the kitchen cabinets to get plates and glasses.

"There was an opening in one of the teams and the agent in charge wanted me to join them. They were working a big case and needed all the agents they could get," Blaine explained, as he got the cutlery.

Kurt looked at him closely. Blaine seemed way too invested in setting the forks and knives on the table, as if he didn't want to look back at Kurt. Kurt wondered if he had screwed up with his questions – it didn't seem like this was something Blaine was comfortable talking about.

"Well, it all sounds very exciting, if you ask me," Kurt muttered, trying to make light of the situation. "My job's pretty stupid compared to yours."

"You're on Broadway, right? I remember you mentioned it when we had you in for questioning," Blaine commented, and he seemed relieved to be able to change the conversation towards Kurt instead of him.

"Yeah, but I'm just in the ensemble," Kurt said, shrugging, as he folded some napkins.

"That sounds exciting enough," Blaine muttered. He opened the oven to check on the food. "Are you not happy with it?"

"Are you sure you want me to answer that?" Kurt chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I'm actually in the perfect mood for a little pity party."

Blaine took the casserole out of the oven and took it to the table. "Dinner's ready. No better time for a pity party."

Kurt smiled at him and took a seat at the table. He told Blaine the same he had told Finn before this odyssey started – how he was afraid he was wasting his life on a job that would never take him anywhere; how he didn't want to spend the rest of his days dancing behind the real star, with no one truly paying attention to him; how he was afraid he had reached his full potential and was now stuck.

"All of this seems completely shallow and meaningless now, of course," Kurt said, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. "You have a whole new life perspective when you're chased by a crazy murderer."

Blaine gave him a sad smile from across the table. "I'm sorry everything sucks right now. I'm sure you'll get to go back to New York soon, and you can figure out what to do. But maybe you can see this as some kind of second chance? Maybe you can stop playing safe in the ensemble. Maybe you're ready for bigger things. Nothing can be scarier than what you've been through this last couple of days, and yet… here you are."

"Here I am," Kurt repeated, looking at Blaine as if he was a beacon of light in the darkness. "You know, my brother said something very similar to me. I think you guys are right."

"If you're going to be dedicating your life to something, you might as well do something you're passionate about," Blaine muttered. He must have seen the question in Kurt's eye, must have felt his curiosity, his sudden need to know if Blaine was passionate about his work on the FBI, because he didn't give him enough time to ask. "Is the chicken a little dry?"

"No, everything's amazing," Kurt said, taking a mouthful to prove his point. "I may go back to New York with a few extra pounds, if your cooking is always this good!"

Blaine smiled at him. It was a soft, kind smile, that made Kurt think. _This is a good man_ , he thought. _This is a kind, good-hearted man, who risks his life to protect people, who has opened up his family home to me, and who has gone out of his way to make sure I'm okay._

_He is such a good man. But why do I feel like he's so broken deep down inside?_

* * *

The arena was full. Rachel peeked at the crowd from the edge of the field, where she was waiting for the team to leave the locker rooms. She had inspected the whole stadium before she allowed Finn to walk away from her to get changed.

A few people looked at her strangely as they walked past her. She looked down at her clothes. Dressed in a football jersey she had borrowed from Finn that was large enough to conceal the gun at her waist and a baseball cap, Rachel had never felt less like herself. Long gone were the days where she would only wear cute dresses and cardigans – the FBI demanded more comfortable clothing and gin holsters.

She heard steps coming down the hallway at her back and she turned to find Finn's teammates exiting the dressing room. She had no trouble locating her current protégé – Finn was a giant even among his tallest buddies.

"Hey," Finn said, walking towards her. "We're ready to begin."

"Okay. I'll be right here, where I can keep an eye on you. How long does this thing last?" She asked.

Finn had trouble hiding his smirk. "An hour, give or take a few minutes. Why? Not looking forward to it?"

"I've never been a very sport-y girl," Rachel shrugged. "But you'd be surprised the kind of things I had to be willing to try in my line of work. Remind me to tell you about the time I had to impersonate a prostitute."

Finn looked like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or look appalled. He stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, before his coach started signaling for him to join the others. "Well. I guess it'll make for an interesting conversation during dinner later."

Rachel watched him go. He looked over his shoulder once, a little frown on his face, and their eyes found each other. Rachel held her hand up, fingers crossed in a silent wish of good luck. Finn smiled at her briefly before trotting out to the field.

The crowd went nuts when the teams were out on the field. Rachel looked around, amazed. She wondered what Finn felt as he was received like this, with the crowd's wildness and devotion. She wondered what it was like to know all those eyes were on you…

She didn't know much about the rules of the game. She had watched a few games when she was in high school, but she had never truly paid attention. She had mostly attended to see the guy she had a crush on, the one who had obviously ended up with the head cheerleader. Rachel had always preferred other aspects of academic life and had never found a place with the popular kids. She had considered doing theatre a few times, but the program at her school had never been good enough to bother with it. She had ended up in debate and mock UN.

No one had taken her seriously when she started considering a career in the FBI. People looked at the tiny brunette girl with the big attitude and thought she would never be good enough to become an agent. But Rachel was the most driven person she knew – just knowing everyone thought she couldn't make it made her wanted even more. She not only got into Quantico, but she also ended at the top of her class.

Rachel Berry loved proving people wrong.

The game only had about fifteen minutes left. Rachel didn't need to know a lot about football to see how good Finn was at it. He was fearless in the field, relentless. He caught the ball and broke into a run, pushing past the opposite team's players. Rachel gasped, overcome with the same excitement that seemed to be spreading in the crowd.

The stadium went nuts when Finn scored, the roar of the fans growing loud enough to reach every corner of the city. Rachel bounced a little on her spot, smiling and clapping as she watched Finn raise his arms in victory before his teammates reached him to clap his back. Even from a distance, Rachel could see his bright smile…

She almost didn't hear it, the sound drowned by the cheers – steps, quiet, but firm and rhythmic. She turned around just in time to see a figure slip into the Giants locker room. It could have been anything – a janitor, the coach's assistant, one of the players needing to use the rest room. But for some reason, it made Rachel feel on edge. She reached for her gun, concealed under Finn's huge jersey, and made her way to the locker room.

It smelled awful in there. Like old sweat and feet, with a mixture of too strong deodorant. Rachel scrunched her nose in disgust, but kept alert. It was massive, with blue carpet and light wooden panels. It was a little messy, like the players had gotten ready in a rush, leaving their things lying around. Rachel would have shaken her head, thinking they were all such boys, if it wasn't for the man going frantically through a bag at the end of a line of lockers.

Rachel's whole body went tense when she recognized Finn's bag.

"FBI! Freeze!" She said, holding up her gun. The man stood very still, his back to her. He was thin and tall, and she could see his blonde hair under the baseball cap he was wearing. "Hands where I can see them. Turn around very, very slowly…" She walked a few more steps towards him. The man didn't turn around, his hands still clasped on Finn's bag.

It had to be him. It had to be the killer.

"I said, turn around!" She shouted, firm and loud, making sure he knew she was serious.

The man moved abruptly, taking his hand out of Finn's bag and pointing at Rachel with a deodorant, which he sprayed deliberately on her face. She cursed, covering her eyes, but already feeling the burn of it. They filled with tears immediately, but Rachel tried to blink them away, as she could hear the man's steps, getting away.

She ran mostly blindly towards the locker room door. Maybe it was because her other senses were sharpening now that she couldn't see well, but the stadium seemed to have grown louder. She couldn't hear steps, breathing or anything that would tell her the killer was still close. All she could hear was the crowd.

She cursed under her breath again, and realized she couldn't do anything by herself like this. She felt powerless and useless in a way she hadn't felt in a very long time. She felt in her jeans pocket for her phone, blinking her eyes endlessly, trying to clear her sight. She thought she made up Santana's name in her contact list, and clicked on it to call her.

"Berry," Santana said as a greeting. "What's up?"

"New York Giants stadium," Rachel said, closing her eyes tightly, hoping to get rid of the burn. "He was here, Santana. I need help. A team. Anything. Please."

"Are you okay? You don't sound okay," Santana said, and Rachel could hear her moving quickly and easily pictured her gesturing orders to the entire bureau.

The burning in her eyes was almost unbearable, but the sense of defeat, of having been so close and letting the bastard escape weighed her down even more. She heard the sound that signaled the end of the game. Soon, Finn would walk up to her and see her, and realize there was nothing she could do to keep him safe.

"No," Rachel muttered in a low, scratchy voice. "No, I'm not okay."

* * *

Kurt couldn't sleep. He was exhausted – had been exhausted since this whole ordeal had begun – but no matter how much he tried, sleep wouldn't come to him. He stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, thinking. Thinking about the man that needed to be trapped in order for him to get his life back, and about what kind of life he would be returning to when that happened.

What he was going through felt like a curse – his life was being threatened, he wasn't safe in his own house, he had to be hidden away by the FBI, and even his brother needed protection. He wasn't sure how long it would take for him to go back to New York and what he would find once he was there.

But it also felt, strangely, like a blessing. There was no point in sitting there feeling bad for himself. He could use this horrible thing and turn it into an opportunity. He could restart his life, find a new angle, find inspiration, rethink his choices, find a new path. He could do whatever he wanted.

He thought of the conversation he had with Blaine over dinner, so similar to the one he had with Finn what felt like a lifetime ago. He thought of how insignificant everything had felt, how his life seemed to be stuck and how he didn't know what to do to make it meaningful and worth living again.

He thought of his father. Burt Hummel had only wanted one thing for his son: for him to be happy.

It was time to find that happiness.

Kurt turned the lamp on. The ranch was quiet, the lack of New York traffic to evident and foreign to be reassuring. He looked around the room, hoping to find a pen and a piece of paper. He thought of his laptop, back in his apartment, and wished he had it with him.

Tiptoeing, Kurt left the bedroom. The hallway was dark, the other doors closed. Blaine must have gone to sleep, too, and he didn't want to wake him. He knew the poor agent was as exhausted as he was, worn down by the worries and responsibilities. He deserved a good night's sleep.

But when he arrived at the living room, the light was still on, and Agent Anderson was lying on the couch, covered in case files, still dressed. His shoes had been carelessly discarded under the coffee table, and a pair of reading glasses was crooked on his face. He had obviously fallen asleep working.

Kurt stood by the couch and watched him for a moment. Blaine was a mystery – when he looked at the man before him, Kurt had a hard time recognizing him in the happy, smiley boy in the pictures on the shelf. They looked alike, but it seemed like all the joy in that young boy had been drained. Kurt guessed it was part of being an FBI agent – how could you do your job, face the terrible things that Blaine must face every day, and not lose that childish bliss?

 _He is handsome_ , a quiet little voice said in the back of Kurt's head. Kurt's eyes followed the strong line of his jaw, covered in stubble; the plump curve of his pink lips; his dark, long eyelashes; the way his hair struggled to escape the gel that Blaine used to tame it every day. He was more than handsome…

Blaine shifted in his sleep, trying to get more comfortable on the couch, and one of the case files fell on the floor. The thud, though quiet and almost non-existent, startled Blaine awake. He sat up abruptly with a gasp, his hand flying to his waist as if to look for his gun.

Kurt took a step back, surprised at the sudden movement. "Oh!" He exclaimed.

Blaine's hazel eyes moved to him. He blinked a few times, looking confused. "Oh. Mr. Hummel. Kurt. I'm…"

"It's okay," Kurt murmured with a little smile. "You fell asleep on the couch. I came looking for something to write and found you. I guess it can't be comfortable…"

Blaine nodded and gathered the files he had dropped. "It's fine." He glanced at the clock and then back at Kurt. "Having trouble sleeping?"

"A little," Kurt shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. But I was thinking… well, I thought of something and I wanted to write it down."

Blaine shuffled the papers on the coffee table until he found a few sheets of paper that he hadn't used and a pen. He handed them to Kurt. "Here."

"Thank you," Kurt grinned at him. "I think I'm going to make some tea. Would you like a cup?"

With another glance at the coffee table, Blaine sighed. "Sure, what the hell. I could use some tea." He followed Kurt into the kitchen, watching him as Kurt set the paper and pen down to grab the kettle. "What is it that you need to write down? Did you remember anything new about the case?"

"No," Kurt replied, as he filled the kettle with water. "I just realized that if I want to find a perfect role on Broadway for me to play, I'll have to write it myself."

Blaine's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Really? You didn't mention you were also a writer."

"I'm not. But how hard can it be?" Kurt put the kettle on the stove and then walked to the cabinet to find the mugs. "I know what I can do. I know my strengths. I need to write something I can play." He started opening doors, looking for the tea, not remembering where it was. He wasn't familiar with the kitchen yet.

Blaine opened a cabinet and grabbed the box of tea. "I think it's a very smart decision. And you are a very eloquent person. I'm sure you can write something good."

"Well, even if it's not good, it'll make a pretty decent distraction while I'm trapped here…" Kurt said as he accepted the box. He froze, staring into Blaine's eyes. "Not that I'm not grateful. I'm so grateful, Agent Anderson, I swear…"

Blaine did a little huffing noise that could be hiding a laugh. He smiled up at Kurt. "I know you are. I know what you mean. Don't worry about it."

Kurt nodded awkwardly. He put the tea bags in the mugs and waited impatiently for the water to boil. He could feel Blaine's eyes on him, but he ignored him, though his skin was suddenly on edge, filling with goosebumps, attacked by chills.

And not the bad kind.

"I'll be right back," Blaine said, as Kurt poured the water in the mugs.

"But your tea is ready! It'll get cold!" He called after him. Kurt heard a door opening and closing and Blaine steps as he moved somewhere else in the house.

Kurt sat at the kitchen table, tea on one hand, paper and pen in the other, and stared at the blank page, wondering how to start. He had never been much of a writer – he had tried writing a musical in high school, as a summer project, but had never finished it, and all his fashion blogs had been abandoned eventually. What made him think he could actually do this now?

Something heavy was set on the table in front of him. Blaine was back and he had brought an old typewriter with him. It was big and covered in a thin layer of dust.

"Here," Blaine said. "Maybe writing in this will help you find some inspiration."

Kurt blinked up at him. "Blaine… it's beautiful, but you didn't have to go get it for me…"

"It's no problem. It was my grandmother's, so it hasn't be used in a while, but it should be in perfect condition. Let me just get rid of that dust for you and you can get to work," Blaine moved to the counter to get something to clean it, but Kurt caught his hand, stopping him.

Blaine's hand was warm in his. Kurt felt the sudden need to trace each finger, to follow the line of hair that started at his wrist, see where it would take him. A shiver went down his spine, and he let go, taking hold of his cup of tea, like he needed the heat it irradiated.

"Thank you so much," Kurt muttered. "You didn't have to."

"I hope it makes you feel a little less trapped," Blaine replied, giving him a soft smile.

They looked at each other, the seconds stretching into what felt like hours. Kurt cleared his throat and looked away first, internally chastising himself for acting like this. Blaine cleaned the typewriter, showed him how to put the paper on it, and they tried it together to make sure it worked. Without the dust, it seemed new, like they had just gone back in time to buy one. The clicking of the keyboard made Kurt feel like he was in an old black and white movie.

He loved it.

Blaine grabbed his tea and stood at the doorway, watching as Kurt set to work. He smiled. "Goodnight, Kurt."

"Goodnight, Blaine," Kurt echoed, already lost in the world of his ideas.

As Blaine walked away, Kurt began to write.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been the longest day. Finn's apartment was quiet, almost as if it were deserted. As soon as he and Rachel had arrived, she had murmured something about needing a shower and disappeared down the hall, leaving Finn alone, feeling useless, helpless.

When he had heard about what had happened in the locker room, he hadn't believed it. Finn had thought Agent Berry was with him only for precaution. Why would this mad man go after him? But, then again, why would he go after Kurt? Nothing made sense.

A team from the FBI had arrived at the stadium, led by Agent Lopez. Rachel had to sit in an ambulance, feeling defeated, and allow a doctor to examine her eyes. They were mostly irritated, and it wasn't as bad as it felt, but what bothered her most was her missed chance. She had been so close… how had she let him escape?

Agent Lopez drove them back to the apartment. "Do you want to go home? I can stay with Mr. Hudson tonight." She offered a million times, but Rachel had just shook her head.

Finn was secretly glad - there was something about Santana Lopez that intimidated him. He preferred Rachel's company, and though she was tiny beside him, strangely, she made him feel safe.

Now, he sat in his living room. He couldn't even bring himself to turn on the TV, to pretend things were okay. He simply sat there, wondering what was going to happen next. Would this be his life now? Would he ever see Kurt again? Was there anyone capable of catching this guy?

One of the floorboards creaked and he looked up. Rachel was standing there, wrapped in her fluffy pink robe and with her hair up in a messy, wet bun.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were asleep already. I just want to grab an apple or something, and I'll leave you to rest…"

"No, stay," he replied earnestly. Her eyes widened slightly. "I mean… I'm hungry, too. We should have dinner."

"I can make…" she began to say, but Finn stood up, shaking his head.

"Let me." He could smell Rachel's body wash from across the room. It was sweet, captivating. "It's the least I can do."

It seemed Agent Berry wanted to protest, but she looked too exhausted to even try. Up close, Finn could see her eyes were still a little red. He opened the fridge and scanned its contents, wondering what to make.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, as he grabbed some basil and garlic. He could make some pesto, boil some pasta… it was the perfect meal to cheer someone up. Or at least that was what his mother used to say. He almost smiled as he remembered how many times his mother had put a steaming plate of food in front of him, ran her fingers through his hair, and whispered that things would be okay.

 _God_ , how he missed her.

"Honestly?" Rachel sighed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Terrible. I always prided myself at being great at my job. I had him right in front of me and I couldn't…" She stopped abruptly and looked down at her hands, clearly embarrassed. "I shouldn't tell you this. It's not professional. You need to feel safe with me, not even more worried that…"

"I do," Finn interrupted. He looked surprised at his own words, and Rachel snapped her gaze up at him, just as shocked. "I mean… I…" He busied himself looking for some cheese. "You… you are very good. Just because you didn't catch him today doesn't mean you can't or you never will. I can tell you're good at this."

It looked like Rachel wanted to smile. "You really think so? Because I would definitely understand if you want to request a different agent…"

"I don't. I want you," Finn answered, and he spluttered like a fish out of the water. "I mean… you know what I mean. I don't want _you_. I just want you to stay. To take care of me. To be with me." He blinked, unable to believe he was being such an idiot. "I…"

Rachel laughed. The sound filled the kitchen, making Finn stop blubbering. "I get it. Don't worry."

As he cooked, Finn felt a weird tension inside of him, like a knot in his belly. Rachel attempted conversation, but every topic died as suddenly as it started, and he wondered if she felt the tension, too. What was it? Probably something he had said, Finn decided sadly. He always spoke before he could think what he wanted to say. His big mouth had been putting him in trouble since high school.

Determined to help, Rachel set the table, ignoring Finn's protests. The noise of clicking cutlery cut through the silence that had suddenly set between them.

When Finn set her plate before her on the table, Rachel caught his hand. Her dark eyes settled into his, honest, vulnerable, intent. Finn realized he had stopped breathing.

"I'll catch him. I'll bring your brother home," she said softly, her words a fierce promise.

His hand seemed to act without his authorization. It turned, intertwining Rachel's fingers with his own, squeezing gently. Now it was her who seemed to stop breathing, and Finn felt like he was being pulled towards her, like there was an invisible force, bringing them together like two magnets. He leaned closer, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips…

A phone rang, making them jump apart so quickly that Finn elbowed one of the glasses, sending water over the table and down to the floor. Rachel clumsily fished her cellphone out of her robe's pocket while Finn reached for some paper towels to clean up the mess.

"I… need to take this. It'll be just a minute. Uhm… you can start eating, I'll be right back," she said, as she fled from the room as quickly as her furry slippers allowed her to.

Finn threw the wet paper towers into the trash and then let himself fall onto his chair, hiding his face in his hands. "What the hell did I just do?"

As if things weren't already complicated enough.

* * *

The hand closed around his throat. Kurt gasped for breath, desperately, but he could feel the fingers tightening, keeping air from entering his lungs. Everything around him was dark - he couldn't see where he was, if there was something near that could help him defend himself. He flailed his arms around, trying to catch the person who was choking him, but no matter how much he moved, he couldn't seem to find the right angle…

A knife flashed before his face, completely out of nowhere. His eyes watered as he stared at it in horror. It was drenched in blood, drops dripping down the blade thickly. Kurt didn't know exactly how he knew it, but he was certain it was his own blood.

A slimy green gaze appeared in front of him. The man was smiling. "Such pretty blue eyes…"

Kurt woke up abruptly, sitting up in bed. He was choking, just like in the dream, but it wasn't a hand around his throat this time. It was his own terror, his own screams trying to push their way out of his lips. He covered his mouth with his trembling hands and closed his eyes tightly, hating the hot fat tears that slipped down his cheeks when he did so.

He reached for the bedside table and switched the lamp on. He couldn't bear the heavy darkness around him. He looked down at himself, almost expecting to find a dark red stain in his shirt, but there was nothing in the slightly-wrinkled navy fabric.

Kurt Hummel wasn't a stranger to bad dreams. He'd had them often enough when he was younger: first when he was just a little boy who had recently lost his mother, and then when he was in high school and just walking to class filled him with the most asphyxiating dread. That didn't mean he had learned how to deal with them or that he had managed to get used to them. No, they still felt as paralyzing as ever. Especially now, he discovered. It was even worse than when he dreamed of bullies and bruises, sudden attacks and slurs.

He couldn't stand to stay in bed for another second. He needed to move. He needed something to remove the chilling sensation travelling through his body.

Kurt thought back to the nights his father would sit with him at the kitchen table after he'd had a nightmare. He thought of two pairs of hands wrapped around cups of chamomile tea, about the comfort of the warmth against his palms. He thought of his father's gentle, patient voice as he promised his son that something better was coming, that not every day of his life would feel like a bad horror movie.

 _God_ , how he missed him.

He wasn't sure how late it was, so Kurt moved quietly through the house, not wanting to wake Blaine. He would just make himself a cup of tea, maybe find something to read, or anything that would take his mind off the nightmare, before he tried to get a few more hours of sleep.

But he had nothing to worry about, because apparently Agent Anderson wasn't the kind of man who ever slept. The light in the kitchen was on, and Kurt could hear him moving around outside, walking along the gallery. It didn't take him long to realize Blaine was on the phone, and that he had probably gone outside to keep the conversation from waking Kurt.

Kurt smiled a little to himself, and decided he would ask Blaine if he wanted some tea, too. Maybe some midnight conversation was all he needed to feel a little better…

"Have you figured out how he broke into the stadium?" Blaine was asking whoever was on the other side. His words made Kurt stop just as abruptly as he had woken up. "It was full of people, security checks… that was a huge risk."

There was a pause while Blaine listened to the reply. Kurt's heart was beating so hard he was afraid it would break through his ribcage.

"Still, we need extra back-up in situations like this. I'm just glad Rachel's fine," Blaine sounded restless, like he couldn't take being so far from the action. "What about Mr. Hudson? Did he have to see a doctor?"

When he heard his brother's name, Kurt's whole world seemed to collapse.

He had hoped they would be talking about some other case that also involved a stadium and an agent named Rachel. He had hoped that being trapped in the middle of nowhere, removed from everything he knew and loved, would be enough to make sure his brother stayed safe.

But what if that monster truly hurt his brother? What if one day Kurt went back to New York to find Finn wasn't there waiting for him?

 _It's me he wants_ , Kurt thought desperately. _Why am I hiding? Why am I risking Finn's life? What the hell am I doing here?_

Kurt backed away from the kitchen, away from the conversation, away from Blaine. He couldn't think straight, but there was only one thing that was clear to him right now: he needed to get back to his brother.

Looking around wildly, Kurt's gaze fell on the car keys by the front door. He was crossing the room and snatching them up before he even knew what he was doing.

It was a warm night, but the breeze that hit Kurt's face when he stepped outside seemed ice-cold. It wasn't until he stepped on the grass that he realized he was barefoot. But shoes didn't seem important - if he went back inside to get his things, it would mean the time it would take him to get to Finn it would be even longer. He couldn't even wait another second.

Kurt got into the car. His hands were shaking so badly that it took a few tries before he managed to fit the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, the sound too loud in the quietness of the countryside. Kurt gripped the steering wheel tightly and drove towards the gate.

Behind him, he heard the front door opening, and saw Blaine coming out of the house through the rearview mirror.

"Kurt! Kurt, stop!"

Kurt didn't want to listen to him. He reached the wooden gate next to the welcoming Bahay Ranch sign. He had no choice but to exit the car to open the gate. His feet hurt when he stepped onto the gray broken stones that made up the path from the gate to the house. But he still didn't care - he walked and pulled the latch insistently, realizing he hadn't grabbed the key for the lock.

"Kurt…" Blaine's voice was a lot closer now. He felt him stop just a few steps behind him. Kurt still didn't turn and kept fidgeting with the latch. "Kurt, please. What are you doing?"

Kurt hated admitting defeat, but there was no way to open the gate without the key. He should have kept driving, crash straight against it, maybe it would have… but no. The wood looked sturdy, permanent, unbeatable.

Unlike him.

"What happened to my brother?" He asked, almost in a whisper. He felt as if all his strength had vanished with his hopes of getting away.

Blaine was beside him now. His eyes looked even darker out here in the endless Maryland night. They wandered over Kurt, as if searching him for injuries, for bruises. "Nothing. Your brother is okay."

"I heard you on the phone," Kurt muttered, finally turning to face him. He knew there were tears on his face, but for once, he didn't care if anyone saw him break down. "What happened?"

He saw Blaine swallow visibly. He seemed disquieted. "Why don't we go back inside and we…?"

"No," Kurt interrupted. He still held on to the latch, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright anymore. "I need to know. Tell me."

Blaine sighed very slowly, his eyes still on Kurt. Kurt could almost feel their presence on him, their heat. "The killer got into the stadium. The locker room, more precisely." When Kurt gasped, Blaine took one more step towards him, as if wanting to comfort him. But he didn't touch him. "Nothing happened to Finn. He was out in the field, didn't even know something was wrong until it was all over. The killer attacked Rachel, agent Berry, and then got away."

Kurt closed his eyes, willing his heart to go back to its normal rate. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Blaine replied as calmly as he could. "No one got hurt."

"But he got away," Kurt whispered.

Blaine looked like it pained him to reply. "Yes."

Kurt let go of the gate to cover his face with his hands. He hated this. He hated every little bit of this.

Blaine's hand was suddenly on his arm, as if holding him up in case Kurt's legs gave up. "Ssh, hey. It's fine. He's fine…"

Kurt looked up at him. They were so close that Kurt could see every speck of gold in Blaine's eyes, even in the deep darkness of the night. "He is all I have left, Blaine. It's just Finn, and me, and no one else. I can't lose him. I can't lose my brother."

Blaine's breath stuttered and his fingers tightened slightly in his arm. "Kurt…"

"I can't lose my brother," Kurt repeated, and he felt as if every one of those words were somehow seeping into Blaine. It looked like they hit him.

"You won't lose him," Blaine said. It wasn't the first promise he'd made to him. But for some reason, Kurt still believed him. "Just… please, Kurt. Just let me keep you safe."

Kurt felt like he was back in his dream. He suddenly couldn't breathe. As he looked at Blaine, watched the earnestness in his handsome face, felt the firm grip of his hand on his arm and the soft and warm caress of his breath against his own face, Kurt realized he couldn't say no to this man.

Not when he asked like that.

He nodded very slowly. "Okay."

Blaine looked so relieved that, in other circumstances, Kurt would have laughed.

They drove the car back towards the house. Once they were inside, Blaine made tea for the both of them, and they sat in silence at the kitchen table, steam rising from their mugs and the night growing older outside the window.

After a few sips, Kurt felt calmed enough to speak. "Can you tell me everything that happened, please?"

Blaine launched into an explanation without even trying to convince Kurt that there was no need for him to know anything else, that the situation was already handled. He simply told Kurt everything he wanted to know, and answered every single question he had.

When Blaine finished talking, Kurt simply stared into the bottom of his empty mug, and said, "I can't do this if I don't know what's happening back home. I can't be hidden here without getting any news from my brother. I'm not asking much of you. Just… if there's anything to know, please… tell me?"

Blaine didn't say anything. He just looked into Kurt's eyes and nodded.

Kurt sighed in relief. It wasn't enough, but it was better than nothing.

Blaine suddenly got his phone out of his pocket. He dialed a number and waited for the call to connect. When it did, he simply said. "Hey, I know it's late, but… can you put him on the phone?"

Kurt looked at him in confusion, and accepted the phone from Blaine without a word, not sure what was happening.

"Hello?"

When Kurt realized it was Finn's voice on the other side, he almost wept. "Finn? Hi."

"Kurt? Oh my god, are you okay?" Finn asked, as Blaine subtly got up and left the kitchen to give him some privacy. "I thought we weren't allowed to communicate. Is something wrong?"

"No," Kurt reassured him quickly. "No, everything's fine. But I heard you had a bit of a day. How are you?"

Finn told him what he already knew - that the killer had slipped into the stadium, nearly blinded agent Berry, and then got away. Kurt would have listened to him reading the dictionary or the phone book. He sounded okay. He sounded _alive_.

"What about you? I know you can't tell me where you are, but tell me anything you can. Is agent Anderson too much of a bore?" Finn said, and he seemed as eager to keep talking as Kurt felt.

"No, he isn't," Kurt whispered. He closed his eyes. "He is pretty amazing."

Kurt insisted Finn told him everything about the game. He didn't understood half of what Finn said, but he simply didn't want the conversation to end. As Finn spoke of a game he had absolutely no interest in, Kurt realized he had never loved his brother more.

They eventually had to say goodbye. Kurt didn't want to abuse Blaine's kindness. He put the phone on the table and just sat there by himself for a few minutes, basking in the relief. Finn was okay. He had heard his voice. Maybe Kurt could get a few hours of sleep without any more nightmares tonight.

Kurt walked into the living room. Blaine was sitting on the couch, flipping through a book, clearly waiting. He looked up and sent a soft smile Kurt's way.

"Feeling better?" He asked.

Kurt simply moved towards him, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up. Before Blaine could even react, Kurt was holding him tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck, his hands firmly pressed to Blaine's back. Blaine stood there, arms hanging limply from his sides, for what felt like eternity. But then he was hesitantly holding Kurt back.

"Thank you," Kurt murmured into his ear, and he would have sworn he felt Blaine shiver in his arms.

Reluctantly, Kurt let go. He smiled at Blaine one last time, and then retreated down the hallway and back to the bedroom. The ranch was as silent as ever as he slipped back into bed. This time, when he closed his eyes, no bad dreams came.


	9. Chapter 9

Life at the ranch was uneventful for the next few days. Kurt had to make an effort and learn how to relax: he had absolutely nothing to do to pass the time and it was beginning to drive him insane. He spent most of his time with the typewriter Blaine had given him. He didn't know how good what he wrote was, but it was something.

Every now and again, Kurt would glance up from what he was writing and look around for Blaine. He spent most of the time reading case files, running laps around the ranch and looking forlornly at his phone. There were no news of the killer, and Kurt could see the tension growing in the line of Blaine's shoulders.

As much as he hated being coped up in this house far away from everything he knew, Kurt couldn't imagine what Blaine must have been feeling, knowing his team was out there working without him, doing all they could to find this man.

It felt as if they both had been removed from the world. Kurt knew why he was here - he was here because the killer was after him and the FBI wanted to keep him safe.

But he couldn't understand why they had made Blaine stay away from a case that obviously meant so much to him. Why was he being punished?

* * *

Blaine dropped another case file on top of the coffee table and sighed tiredly. It didn't matter how much he read the files, if he wasn't able to be out there in the streets looking for clues or examining evidence, it just felt like he was a kid playing at being a detective.

He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. It wasn't time for dinner yet, so he still had time to go out for a run. Maybe that would clear his head a little bit.

Kurt walked into the living room, looking as desperately bored as he felt. He gave him a polite smile, a quick reflection that held no warmth. "Do you mind if I pick one of the books here to read? If I keep staring at a blank page any longer, I think I might stab myself in the eye."

"I take it the writing isn't going well?" Blaine said as he gestured for Kurt to just browse the bookcase.

"Well, I'm mostly working on developing the characters now, and there are a few that are irritating me to no end," Kurt explained vaguely, as he ran the tip of his finger across the spines of the books on the shelf. "You know, every main character on Broadway has a song that is all about their motivations and their goals and where they want to go: Jack Kelly has _Santa Fe_ , Elphaba has _Defying Gravity_ , Alexander Hamilton has _My Shot_ , Valjean has _Who Am I_. So I'm trying to find this kind of path for my main character, but he's just… silent. I don't know what to do with him."

"Well, most of those songs are about overcoming something, right?" Blaine asked thoughtfully. "So maybe you need to figure out exactly what this character needs to overcome to know where he wants to go."

Kurt turned towards him and watched him blankly for a few seconds. "Are you telling me I'm locked in a ranch house with an FBI agent who has an extensive knowledge of the Broadway catalogue?"

"I don't know about _extensive knowledge_. I do enjoy musicals, though. Always have. I played Tony in a high school production of West Side Story…" Blaine replied, shrugging.

"Ah, _Something Coming_! Another wonderful motivation-centered song from a lead character!" Kurt almost clapped his hands in excitement. "Agent Anderson, I'm impressed."

Blaine chuckled. "I'd say you're easy to impress, then. You're the one who goes on stage eight times a week, Kurt."

"Well, you carry a gun. I'd _shoot_ myself on the foot eight times a week if I did, so I guess we all have our strengths," Kurt muttered as he went back to perusing the shelves. "Still, I'm impressed. You should be warned: if we have to stay here much longer, I will eventually need a duet partner."

"I'm duly terrified, thanks for the warning," Blaine said. He suddenly felt in a better mood. He leaned against the arm rest of the couch and watched as Kurt removed books from the shelves to take a look at them before placing them back. "Are you looking for any genre in particular?"

"Not really, I just want something that will distract me for a while," Kurt answered. His hand stopped on a leather-bound volume. "Ooh, _Pride and Prejudice_! I was never able to resist Mr. Darcy."

He removed the book from the shelf. It was a beautiful edition bound in blue leather, the letters on the cover in bright gold. He opened it, and immediately something fell from it, fluttering quickly towards the floor.

"Oh, what is this? A picture?" Kurt said, as he leaned in to retrieve it. His eyebrows rose as he stared at it. He had expected an old picture - maybe of Blaine's grandparents - but instead, he found himself staring at an adult Blaine, maybe two or three years younger, with his arms around another young man. He had light brown hair and green eyes, his head leaning against the top of Blaine's.

Blaine had moved closer to take a look. His breath seemed to falter.

"That's a really nice picture," Kurt commented, unsure what to say. "Is he your friend, your brother?"

"That's my ex-fiancé," Blaine replied in a careful monotone. It was obvious he was making an effort to not show any sort of emotion. "I sent this picture to my mother a while ago. She must have put it there."

Kurt paused, looking at the picture more intently. The spark of happiness in Blaine's eyes was impossible to miss. He had trouble believing that the man in the photograph and the man standing before him were the same. There was something so jaded about the Blaine he knew. He wondered what had happened to him to change him so much.

"I see," Kurt said, unsure if he was allowed to ask more questions. Judging from how tense Blaine seemed, he guessed not. "Well, it's, uhm. A nice picture." He handed it to Blaine.

He took it slowly, like he was afraid the photography may burn him. "Yeah," he whispered. "It was."

Blaine disappeared into the kitchen without another word, the picture still clasped in his hand. Kurt dropped down onto the couch with the book, but he wasn't sure he was on a mood to read anymore.

* * *

It was a perfectly sunny day. In any other circumstances, Rachel would have thrown her head back, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face. Instead, she was sitting on a bench next to a pile of protective cups and sweaty football jerseys, watching a group of men run around the field after a ball.

Okay, so she wasn't into sports at all.

Finn had tried explaining the rules to her the past few days, but it was hard to remember every word he had said when she had been busy looking into his sweet almond eyes. She had discovered they lit up in excitement whenever Finn talked about something he was passionate about. A little wrinkle would appear next to his mouth as he smiled, and the world would suddenly stop spinning.

Okay, so she had a little crush.

It didn't mean anything. Rachel was nothing if not professional, but she was also a woman, and she had eyes. Finn was nice and goofy, and every time she looked at him, she felt her heart flutter in her chest.

It had been a very long time since she had gone out on a date. Working at the FBI meant there were a lot of lonely nights. She was more used to being in the company of felons in handcuffs than sitting in a restaurant with a man she liked. Mostly, Rachel was okay with her loneliness: she was a career-driven person, and being successful in what she did would always come first. But she also had to be honest, at least with herself, and admit that sometimes she longed for someone to cuddle on the couch with, someone to share the details of her day with, someone who would hold her hand as they walked in the park. When she got home after work, usually late into the night, there was no one waiting there for her, no one who noticed if she was tired, or hurt, or excited about catching a criminal.

Sometimes she looked at Santana and wondered how she did it. How did she manage to dedicate her whole body and soul to a difficult case, and still be able to dedicate her heart to someone else? Rachel knew Santana had gone through very rough times when she was younger. They had briefly met at Quantico, when Rachel had got in, Santana was about to graduate. She remembered the hard look on her eyes, the way she closed up, how aggressive she used to be. Being in love had softened her, at least with the people she cared about, and it had never stopped her from being excellent at her job.

Rachel had never thought she would say this, but sometimes she wished she was more like Santana.

She shook her head. It wasn't useful to dwell in these matters. There was no point, especially for Finn. Even if she found him cute, there was nothing she could do about it. She was only here to protect him. Once the killer was caught, Finn would get his guest room and privacy back, and Rachel would move on to the next case.

Finn was a pretty well-known football player. He probably had tons of girls. He probably dated all the time. Why would he even look at Rachel _that_ way?

Disgusted, Rachel realized she was beginning to sound like her old high school self. She hated that. She wasn't the same clingy sixteen year old girl. She didn't need a man to validate her and her achievements. She was fine.

Forcing herself to focus back on the task at hand, she glanced around the practice field until she spotted Finn. As she watched him, he caught a pass from one of his teammates, held the ball closely, and ran towards the end of the field. The players in the opposite team tried to stop him, throwing themselves at him, but Finn suddenly seemed unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. He pushed his way to the goal line, and threw the ball against the ground in victory. Unable to contain herself, Rachel clapped her hands and smiled widely at him.

Finn removed his helmet, a broad, beautiful, dazzling smile stretching his lips. Even from the bench, Rachel could see he was looking straight at her. Her heart fluttered again.

 _Damn it_.

* * *

It had been another extremely long night. The FBI had received a tip from an anonymous source telling them they knew where the killer was. Santana had lead a team to raid an apartment in Queens, but they had found nothing. The apartment was empty. It had either been emptied out on purpose, or the killer had never been there in the first place. It didn't matter - it was terribly frustrating.

She rubbed her eyes as she read through her emails. There were a million things to do, but she couldn't bring herself to do any of them. She was tired, and in desperate need of a cup of coffee. But she was too lazy to get up and get one.

There was knock on the door and when Santana looked up, all her exhaustion and weariness seemed to melt away. Brittany was standing at the threshold, a radiant smile on her beautiful face. She was wearing a white sundress with flowers on it, and her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun. Her big belly seemed even bigger than when Santana had last seen her yesterday, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight of it.

"Hey you, am I interrupting?" Brittany asked.

Santana got up from the desk and walked towards her. "Never." She kissed her wife, one hand on her jaw, the other on her belly. The baby kicked, like he knew his other mommy was there. They smiled against each other's lips. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I missed you. And I thought maybe you could use a cup of coffee," Brittany replied, showing her the Starbucks cup and bag she was holding. Santana almost groaned in appreciation.

"You're the best. This is why I married you," Santana said, giving her another kiss, before practically throwing herself at the coffee cup.

Brittany passed it over with a laugh, and came into the office to sit at the desk. She opened the bag. "I brought you a bagel, too. I know how you are, you probably forgot to eat anything last night." She handed over the bagel, and then fished in the bag for a chocolate-filled croissant. She bit into it eagerly. "Oh yes, that's the stuff."

Santana smiled at her over the rim of her coffee cup. "Croissant cravings again?"

"They never stop," Brittany practically moaned around another bite. When she swallowed, she looked up at her wife. "How are you? Do you think you can come home for a nap? You look tired."

"I'm definitely leaving the office earlier today," Santana said. She sat and reclined against her seat. She could have fallen asleep right there. "But we have a team meeting scheduled at noon. With Blaine away, Captain Jones is pretty much in charge of the case, and she wants a debriefing."

"I'm sure it'll go well. You're bound to catch this man sooner or later, and with you on the case, I'm sure it'll be sooner than later." They simply smiled at each other for a few seconds, content with just being together. "Have you heard from Blaine? I know it's also bothering you that he's away."

"He calls pretty much all the time. He hates being away, and I feel like he's mad at me because I talked to the Captain about him. But he's my friend, and I was worried. I couldn't let him go on like that," Santana took another sip of her coffee. She could feel the caffeine waking every single inch of her. "But please, let's just not talk about anything work-related right now. You look so beautiful in that dress, I wish I could stick my head under it."

Brittany laughed, an incredibly beautiful sound that seemed to explode out her. " _Santana_! Don't say things like that here! Anyone could walk in!"

"No one's going to walk in. And I'm allowed to tell my wife how much I want her…"

"Santana… oh hey! Sorry for interrupting!"

They both looked at the door, Santana with a gaze that would have scared even the bravest of men, and Brittany pressing a hand to her mouth, amused. Agent Sam Evans stood there, like a deer caught in the headlights, wishing he was anywhere but here.

"What?" Santana asked dryly.

"San, be nice," Brittany murmured quietly, still looking quiet entertained.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, but… uhm," Agent Evans looked around the office, anywhere but at Santana's face. "It's just that you told us to let you know if anything suspicious happened so…"

Santana arched an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I think someone's been through my things," Sam said. "I'm very particular about the way I keep everything. Things were out of place. It doesn't look like anything's missing, but someone's definitely read my files…"

Santana stood up abruptly. The smile was gone from Brittany's face in a flash. "Are you sure?"

Sam nodded. "Like I said, nothing's missing, but I'm sure someone's been messing with my things."

"I want you to go through all your stuff again and make sure that nothing's missing. And get me all the files you were working on, I want to see what kind of information they could've found." Santana walked towards the door and peeked out of the office. "Castro! Hart! My office, please!"

Brittany stood up, balled up the remains of their breakfast and put a gentle hand on Santana's arm. "I'll leave you to it. Call me when you have a chance and let me know what time you'll be home." She pressed a quick kiss to her wife's lips and looked intently into her eyes. "Take care."

"I always do," Santana muttered, and put her hand on Brittany's belly one last time, before her wife left the office. Agents Hart and Castro walked in, looking at her expectantly. "Someone's been through Agent Evans' desk. We need to find out who did it. Castro, please go downstairs, talk to security, have them show you records of who got into the building last night. Hart, go through the security cameras footage. We have security cameras up our asses in this place, at least one's bound to show us who was here. Report back to me as soon as you're done."

With a nod, both agents disappeared down the hallway to fulfill her orders. She turned towards Sam, who was frowning at her.

"You don't think he managed to come into the bureau, right?" Sam asked.

Santana leaned against her desk, her brain working a million miles per hour. "I hope not. But it is kind of weird that we got that dead-end tip out of nowhere, and just when no one was here, someone went through your stuff."

Agent Evans ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I'll go check again. Maybe I'm mistaken."

Santana blinked at him. All of her was tension and alert. "Let's pray you are."

* * *

He was back in the alley. He could see the pool of blood coming from the girl on the ground. He could smell the metallic, oxide scent of it. It filled his nostrils, making him dizzy.

"Don't run," that horrible voice said, too close to his ear. "Don't run, pretty one. There's no use. I'm going to catch you anyway."

Kurt could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest, it was so fast. He wanted to implore for his life, but what would be the point? You can't reason with a person who's just killed someone without a bit of regret. You can't ask them for mercy - they don't know what that is.

Suddenly, a knife cut through his clothes. With a swift movement of the blade, he was naked, unprotected. He felt fingers grazing his skin from all angles, but no matter how much he tried to stop it, how he moved, he couldn't. They were always there, probing, violating.

And then it wasn't just fingers. The blade ran all the way down his chest, his stomach, pausing right above his hipbones. Blood started pouring out of his open cuts, but he could feel no pain. He looked down and found a heart carved into his stomach, crooked and imperfect.

Kurt woke up with a scream. This time he didn't sit in bed and wait for his heart rate to go back to normal. He didn't try to convince himself that it had only been a dream. He simply jumped out of bed and ran out of the bedroom. He couldn't sit there in the dark.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He wished he could turn back time, be a little boy again, and run into his father's bedroom to look for comfort, wake him up and ask him to hold him. He wished none of this was happening, but there was no point in wishing for impossible things.

Kurt knew he wouldn't be able to calm down so easily. The dream had felt too real. He walked across the hallway and knocked on the other bedroom's door. He didn't want to bother Blaine, but he just needed to know he wasn't all alone in the world. Being isolated from everything he loved and everything he knew wasn't helping.

When he didn't get an answer immediately, Kurt pushed the door open gently. In a normal situation, he would have turned around and gone to the kitchen to get a cup of tea instead. But now… now he just desperately needed _someone_.

It was dark inside the room, but the curtains in the window were open enough to let a sliver of moonlight in.

"Blaine?" He called in a shaky voice. He walked inside. He realized there were two single beds in the bedroom. "Blaine? I'm sorry to bother you, I just…"

He reached the bedside table between the beds and felt for the switch to turn the lamp on. When he found it, and the room was bathed in a soft light, he felt confused. Both beds were empty.

They weren't only empty in a way that meant that whoever slept in them hadn't gone to sleep yet. They looked empty in that way that rooms that haven't been used in years looked. There was a thin layer of dust on the bedside table.

He wondered if he was still trapped in the nightmare when he heard his voice.

"Kurt? Kurt, are you okay? I heard you scream. Kurt?"

"I-I'm here," he replied, loud enough to be heard from the hallway.

Blaine appeared in the doorway. He seemed confused to find him there. "What happened? What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you," Kurt said, swallowing with difficulty. "I thought you slept here."

Kurt realized Blaine's eyes were stubbornly fixed on him. They didn't glance around the room. He also didn't come inside. "Are you okay?"

"I had a nightmare," Kurt answered. He felt his legs weakening. He could still feel the touch of those fingertips all over him, the slide of the knife against his body. When his knees buckled, he let himself fall onto one of the beds. "I can't… he was…"

"It's okay," Blaine said. "You're safe."

Kurt felt pathetic as he hid his face in his hands and let out a strangled sob. He _was_ safe. No one was going to hurt him here. He had no reason to cry. But still… the whole ordeal suddenly felt too heavy to carry alone.

Blaine's hand held onto the door frame for a moment. His knuckles went white with the strength of it. He looked at Kurt's shoulders, shaking miserably as he cried, and took a deep breath, before finally stepping into the room.

Kurt felt the bed dip as Blaine joined him. Hesitantly, Blaine's arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Kurt allowed himself to be held, resting his head on Blaine's shoulder, grasping his shirt with his fists. He wondered how Blaine managed to be so brave all the time. How did he face so many nightmares for a living?

 _Maybe that's why I never find him sleeping_ , Kurt thought.

Blaine was making quiet, soothing noises, his hands firmly pressed against his back. No one had ever held him so carefully and so fiercely at the same time. "It's fine. It was just a dream."

The longer it took for Kurt to stop crying, the more embarrassed he felt. When he managed to catch a breath, he straightened up and wiped his tears with the hem of his shirt. "I'm so sorry…"

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Blaine assured him softly. "It's understandable. You went through a traumatic experience. It isn't over yet. You just need some time to put it behind you."

"What I'm going through isn't even as bad as what others go through," Kurt said, shaking his head in shame. "I can't stop thinking of that poor girl in the alley."

"You couldn't have done anything for her. And just because she didn't manage to escape, it doesn't mean you're not going through a rough time now," Blaine said. "Don't feel guilty for surviving, Kurt."

Kurt looked up at him, his eyes still watery. He didn't know what to say. Everything in Blaine seemed so deeply wise and experienced. Kurt wondered how many deaths he had witnessed, how many tragic endings. How many things even more grotesque than death.

He looked away when he couldn't bare the intensity in those whisky eyes anymore. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for barging in here like that. I shouldn't have."

"It's fine," Blaine murmured, but the tension in his words told a different story.

"No, it's not. I assumed it was your room. I didn't know if this was off-limits or…" Kurt glanced around. There was dust on all the furniture. He saw a few picture frames, but it was impossible to see the pictures in them under all that dust and abandon. "It _looks_ off-limits."

"This was the room me and my brother shared when we stayed here with our parents," Blaine explained, his voice completely neutral. "I just haven't come in here in a very long time."

"Why not?" Kurt asked, frowning slightly.

"He died."

Kurt gasped. Maybe he should have expected that answer. Everything in the room's state and Blaine's reluctance to be there hinted at it. But Kurt was still surprised. "I'm so sorry…"

"Thank you," Blaine nodded. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the picture frame on the bedside table. He wiped the dirt away with his hand, revealing two joyful, smiling faces. Kurt had seen pictures of Blaine's family in the living room. He just now realized that they had disappeared after their first day in the ranch. Blaine must have put them away. "That's Cooper." He pointed at a tall boy, probably eighteen or nineteen, with beautiful blue eyes and dark hair. He was so handsome, the kind of boy who would have made Kurt swoon back in high school.

"He looked like a great guy," Kurt commented, smiling down at the picture. "Did he… die long ago?"

"About a year ago," Blaine replied. He put the frame back on the bedside table. "Both he and my dad died the same day."

"Oh Blaine," Kurt was breathless with grief. He couldn't imagine what pain Blaine must have been through. "That's terrible. Was it an accident?"

"No, it was actually a raid," Blaine said. He looked at his hands, knotted together on his lap, like he couldn't bear looking anywhere else. "They were both in the FBI. We were working on a terrible case, human trafficking. We got a tip that they had a hide-out near the pier, so my dad put together a team and we went there. Someone must have alerted them that we were coming, they clearly had no time to scatter, but they did prepare for us."

Blaine was expressionless, like he didn't want to give away what was truly going on inside of him. But Kurt could feel the tension and the pain coming in waves from him. He almost drowned in them. He wished he could say or do something. He almost stopped Blaine from telling him the rest of the story, but he couldn't. He realized it was taking a lot of effort and bravery to say these words. Kurt wondered if he had even talked about this since it happened.

"As soon as we went in, we were ambushed. It was crazy, I can barely remember what happened. It was so loud and dark, and…" Blaine shook his head. The more he talked the more he seemed to be lost in his own words, like he was far away from the ranch. "Santana was next to me most of the time, but at one point I just lost her. When I finally saw her again, a guy was pointing a gun at her. I ran towards her, but I wasn't fast enough. And then Cooper was there, pushing her aside, and…" His breathing had picked up gradually as he spoke. He was almost shaking, the memories buzzing and scratching at him. "Santana reacted first and shoot the guy, but when I finally got to them, Cooper just… he…" His hazel eyes filled with tears. He frowned, like he couldn't believe it. Still, a year later, and he couldn't believe it. "He looked at me. He said my name. And then he just died."

"Blaine…" Kurt whispered. He inched closer, unsure whether touching him was a good or bad idea.

"It wasn't until it was all over that I found out my dad was dead, too," Blaine continued, as if he couldn't even hear Kurt. "It all probably took about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and it just tore my family apart. Twenty minutes."

Kurt couldn't stop himself anymore. He put his hand on top of Blaine's, which were tangled in his lap. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't know how to tell my mom," Blaine said with a bitter chuckle. "How do you tell someone half their family is gone? She always knew the risks. Sometimes she hated that we were all in the FBI. She joked that we liked worrying her, keeping her on her toes, appreciating every day we could all be together…" Blaine watched Kurt's hand as if it was something so foreign, he couldn't understand it. "It destroyed her. She wasn't the same again. She packed her life and moved to California with her sister. I haven't seen her much since the funeral. She's mad at me, thinks I should quit, do something less exciting, like become an accountant. Something that won't mean she'll get another call in the middle of the night…"

"They were so brave," Kurt whispered, and when Blaine looked up at him, he squeezed his hand. "And so are you. I have never met anyone as brave as you. I know it hurts losing someone you love… but they gave their lives for a good cause, to protect others. Don't be afraid to remember them. Honor them, Blaine. They deserve that."

"I should have been faster…"

Kurt cupped Blaine's face, made sure their eyes were locked, that he was truly listening. "Don't feel guilty for surviving, Blaine," he said, echoing Blaine's earliest words.

Blaine sucked in a breath, his pupils going dark, his whole body shaking. Kurt mostly moved out of instinct and reflex. He wasn't planning to, but he still kissed Blaine.

It started soft, a small comfort after a painful moment. His lips caressed Blaine's, as if hoping that would erase his wounds. But then Blaine was surging forward, a hand on the back of Kurt's neck, the other on his shoulder, kissing him like it was the only thing that kept him alive. Kurt was shocked for a moment, but then followed, allowing himself to melt into the passion, tangling his fingers into Blaine's loose curls to bring him impossibly closer.

It was like Kurt's body was suddenly awake after a long sleeping spell. It was thrumming, nightmare forgotten, like everything that was wrong in the world had gone away as soon as Blaine's lips touched his. He didn't want to stop. He never wanted to stop…

Blaine pulled away.

His eyes were wide, and his lips kiss-swollen. He looked so attractive that Kurt could have moaned at just the sight of him. But he stopped himself when he realized how alarmed Blaine seemed.

"I…" Kurt said, standing up from the bed abruptly. "I shouldn't have… I just wanted to…"

"Kurt," Blaine murmured, looking up at him with those huge, mesmerizing hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. It was completely inappropriate," Kurt retorted, doing his best to sound normal and to ignore the wild beat of his heart. "I think I should probably… you know, go back to sleep. It's really late."

Kurt waited, half-hoping Blaine would stop him, would say something to keep him there. But when he didn't, Kurt couldn't get out of that room fast enough. He was so embarrassed. How could be so stupid?

He didn't sleep that night. His lips tingled with the ghost of Blaine's, and he couldn't help feeling mortified about what the morning would bring.

* * *

Blaine stood outside Kurt's door, his hand pressed to the white wood, his eyes closed. He told himself it was all complicated enough. He told himself that Kurt was right, it had been inappropriate. He talked himself out of knocking a million times.

But the truth was that those few seconds had made him feel more alive than anything else in the past year.

Finally, he took a step back. He wouldn't go chasing any impossible dreams.

He was too busy chasing nightmares.


	10. Chapter 10

Santana dipped the brush in the can of green paint and then furiously attacked the wall with it. There were stains of paint on her arms and pajama top, but she didn't actually care or notice. Part of her wanted to focus on this, on painting the room for her first son. But the rest of her was just looking for an escape from all the tension that her body carried. And there were only so many hours one could spend at the gym unloading her frustrations on a sandbag or treadmill.

"San?" Brittany's sleepy voice said behind her. "What are you doing? It's three in the morning."

"I need to get this done. The baby's due soon," Santana replied without even turning. She still needed to assemble the furniture. Maybe she could do that tonight, too…

"Are you okay?" Brittany asked, coming into the room. She had a frown on her sweet face. "Why don't you come back to bed?"

"This is the only time I have to do this. I have to be at the office early in the morning, and we both know my weekends are non-existent, so…" Santana paused when she felt Brittany's hand on her arm. She finally turned to look at her wife, and her heart almost broke at the look of confusion and worry in her turquoise eyes. "Britt…"

"What is it?" She murmured. "What's wrong?"

"I can't stop thinking about what happened at the office today," Santana spilled at last. She could never hide things from Brittany for long. She had figured out Santana planned to propose at least two weeks before it actually happened. "You know, with Sam sure someone went through his stuff. Nothing was missing. Castro checked with security at the lobby but no one suspicious got inside the night before. And Hart checked all the security footage, but he found nothing."

"So maybe it was nothing. Maybe he just thought…" Brittany suggested, always the optimist, but Santana interrupted her.

"No. I don't think that's the case. I mean, Sam can be an unbearable imbecile sometimes, with his impressions and his upsettingly huge lips, but he's a good guy, a good agent. I trust his instincts. He wouldn't waste my time if he wasn't sure," Santana explained. She dropped the paintbrush and ran a hand down her tired face.

"San, please come back to bed. There's nothing you can do now…" Brittany pleaded. She sighed. "You know, you always go on and on about how Blaine needs a break, but it's not only him who had a rough year."

"I'm fine," Santana said immediately, almost a reflex.

"You could have _died_ that night, Santana," Brittany exclaimed. "And you haven't stopped to even think about that. You never stop."

"I have work to do. And I can't… Blaine lost his father and his brother, Britt. His brother died saving _me_ ," Santana said, her voice cracking. "I can't pay Cooper back for what he did. But I can try and make it up to Blaine."

"That's an insanely heavy thing to carry on your shoulders," Brittany whispered. She watched her wife, but Santana didn't look like she wanted to keep talking about it. "Please, come back to bed with me. You are almost never home. I want to be close to you. _We_ want to be close to you. Please?"

Santana was never able to say no to Brittany when she was like this. She sighed and smiled softly at her, accepting the hand that Brittany was already offering her. She turned the nursery light off as she went. She had time to finish painting before the baby arrived.

She even had time to catch that bastard before the baby arrived.

* * *

Kurt had never dreaded breakfast as much as he did that morning. He left the bedroom almost reluctantly, and walked down the hallway to the kitchen slowly, like a wild animal ready to bolt at the first sign of human life.

The smell of coffee was the only thing that persuaded him not to just hide back in bed for the rest of the day. His stomach growled at the thought of a good dose of caffeine. And, he thought, he couldn't hide from Blaine forever.

Blaine was at the kitchen sink, washing a few dishes. He didn't even turn when Kurt walked in. "There's a fresh pot of coffee, if you want a cup. We ran out of eggs, but you can have some bacon or toast. I'll ask Manuel to do a supermarket run later."

As Kurt poured himself a cup of coffee, he studied Blaine's back. There was always tension in his muscles, so it was hard to say if he was still upset about the night before. "Thanks, I'm not hungry."

Blaine dried his hands and finally turned. Kurt studied his eyes, but he couldn't see anything there. He wasn't sure what kind of sign he was looking for, but Blaine was giving out none. "Alright. I'll go take a shower."

"Okay."

And that was it. Kurt sat at the kitchen table and groaned. Things had at least been nice until yesterday. They had been getting along, joking, talking about books and Broadway. But now… Kurt hoped, more than ever, that the FBI would catch the killer, because he wasn't sure how much longer he and Blaine could remain under the same roof.

* * *

Kurt had felt isolated before, knowing he wasn't allowed to see his brother, to go to work, to just cross the front door and go wherever he wanted. But it was nothing compared to what he felt now.

Blaine was avoiding him. There was no other way to describe it. They didn't even share meals anymore. Blaine disappeared, going outside to work-out or help Manuel around the ranch, and they barely even crossed a word or two during the day.

Bitterness started growing steady inside of Kurt. Why did he have to be so stupid? Why hadn't he thought before he moved and kissed Blaine?

And the worst of it all was that Kurt actually had an answer to those questions: he was so attracted to Blaine he didn't know what to do about it.

He had gone through a series of decent boyfriends, but no one who could make his knees weak, who would make his heart rate raise wildly when they walked into a room. He had felt love before, but he hadn't known this need, this passion that threatened to explode out of his veins. Yes, it had been a while since he had last dated anyone, but that had been a personal choice: he had been cast in the ensemble, and he wanted to focus on the job, try to work his way up to maybe becoming an understudy, if he couldn't go any further. He had wanted to focus on his career, but he didn't realize how lonely he had felt until now, when loneliness was all he could feel.

What was he supposed to do? He still had no idea how long he would have to stay in this house. What if this was all he had left, for the rest of his life? If the killer was never caught, would he never be allowed to go back to his old life?

Or would Blaine just get sick of babysitting him and pass him on to another agent, another location, another kind of isolation?

He wondered if maybe it wasn't better to try to talk to Blaine about what had happened. He wasn't sure what he could say, but maybe if he apologized again… but how would he even get the chance to do that, if Blaine didn't stay in a room with him long enough to utter a single word?

* * *

Whenever he had a day off, Finn usually parked himself on the couch in his underwear, ate chips and watched movies or played videogames. It was his favorite way to unwind, even if Kurt told him there wasn't anything stressful about wearing at least pajama pants.

But he didn't know what to do with Rachel in the apartment.

They were sitting together on the couch, their backs too straight to be comfortable, watching the news. Finn hated watching the news, but whenever he changed the channel to something he liked better, he could see her doing a grimace out the corner of his eye. So she wasn't into zombies, sports or horror movies. What was he supposed to do?

He didn't know if she was allowed any days off. It seemed unfair that she had to stay with him 24/7. Didn't she have a family to go home to? A boyfriend? Friends she wanted to spend time with? A cat that needed to be fed?

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Finn asked out of nowhere, and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for going with _that_ option. Why couldn't he had asked about a cat?

Rachel, who had been in the process of reaching for the popcorn on the coffee table, froze in place. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, so red that Finn was scared she would combust. "I… don't, actually." She sat back on the couch and carefully placed a strand of hair behind her ear, not looking at him. She was obviously making an effort to sound casual when she said: "Why do you ask?"

Finn felt as if his chest was suddenly filled with more air that his lungs could work with. He probably had to fart. He had been holding back farts _a lot_ since Rachel had come live with him. "I was just wondering. It must suck to be stuck here with me every day. I bet you wish you could go do something else."

"Oh, I don't mind at all," Rachel answered. Her face became even redder. "I mean… it's my job. Of course I don't mind."

"Oh cool. I was afraid I was being a huge inconvenience," Finn replied, still not sure if he believed her.

An awkward silence followed his words. They both fidgeted on the couch and watched the TV, where a man was telling the reporter about a robbery. Finn frowned, not paying attention, his head elsewhere. It didn't _feel_ like a fart.

They both moved in for the popcorn at the same time and knocked their heads together painfully. They groaned in pain, Rachel sitting back down against the back of the couch, hand covering half her forehead and her left eye. Finn was used to getting hit in the head (football was _wild_ ), but he was usually wearing a helmet.

"Ow, I'm sorry…"

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't see you…"

Finn blinked at her, the pain already melting away. "Is your eye okay?"

"It stings, I probably got a hair in it or something," Rachel answered, rubbing her eye with her hand. "Oh jeez, I hate when that happens…"

"Let me see," Finn inched closer, leaned towards her and gently removed her hand. "Can you blink for me?"

Rachel looked up at him. She gasped. She didn't think they had _ever_ been this close…

Finn's gaze flashed quickly down to her lips. He licked his own, as if considering what to do next. His hand was warm and big against her cheek, and she could feel the way his chest moved as he breathed. With one more look down to her mouth, Finn began to lean in more…

"Errands!" Rachel screamed, scaring them both, making Finn jump back to the other end of the couch.

"W-what?" He asked in absolute confusion.

"I just remembered. I have errands. I do need some time off." She got up. "I have to call the office. I have to talk to Captain Jones."

Finn watched her retreat down the hallway towards her room. He groaned in frustration. She had scared her away. What made him think she wanted to kiss him? _He_ wasn't sure he wanted to kiss her. Even if her lips looked really soft, and she smelled really nice, and her skin seemed so smooth and perfect to the touch. And her big brown eyes always seemed so earnest, he would have willingly fallen right into them…

 _Oh_ , Finn thought. _Oh, shit._

It was almost an hour later when Rachel resurfaced. Finn hadn't moved an inch, too bewildered by his thoughts to do anything. He looked up at her, who cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I called the office, they are sending a replacement," she communicated in a very formal voice that didn't sound much like her. "You have nothing to worry about, your safety is the FBI's top concern."

"I thought the FBI's top concern was catching the killer and protecting my brother," Finn murmured dumbly.

"Well, of course. You and your brother are a package deal of sorts," Rachel nodded. She grabbed her bag, which Finn hadn't noticed until know. "Anyway…" The sound of someone pounding on the apartment door interrupted her. "Oh, right on time."

Finn stood up nervously. He didn't want Rachel to go. It had taken a while for him to get used to having someone in his apartment all the time, but in the end, it had been nice to have her company. He wished there was something more meaningful to say that _I'm sorry_.

Rachel opened the door. Agent Lopez stood on the other side, and she seemed to be in a terrible mood.

"Berry, as usual, you have the most awful timing," she said, not bothering with a greeting and not even sparing Finn a glance as she came inside. "I have a lot to take care of at the bureau."

"I know, I'm sorry," Rachel said softly. "I just need a day off, that's all."

Santana snorted. "You and me both, sugar." She walked past Finn and went straight for the couch. She grabbed the bowl of popcorn, put her feet on the coffee table and changed the channel to a Mexican telenovela.

Finn stared at her, eyes wide. He didn't like this one bit. He turned to beg Rachel to stay, but when he looked back at the door, she was already gone.

"Can you get me a diet soda?" Santana said, and even though she phrased it as a question, it was pretty much an order.

Finn considered chasing Rachel down the stairs, but Santana arched an impatient eyebrow at him, and he scattered to the kitchen.

Between Santana and the killer, he would much rather deal with the killer.

* * *

The afternoon sun was hot on his back. Blaine's shirt was sticking to his skin with sweat. He thought about going inside and getting a glass of water, but as he glanced towards the house, he saw Kurt sitting at the kitchen table, staring miserably at the typewriter.

He decided to stay outside.

He grabbed a straw bale, his muscles straining with the effort, and carried it inside the stable, where Manuel was refilling the horses' troughs with water.

"Where do you want this, Manuel?" Blaine asked.

The man turned towards him and pointed at the wall next to him. "Right here is fine. Thank you for your help, señor Blaine. An old man like me… I can't carry the heavy stuff like I used to…"

Blaine smiled at him as he set the straw bale down. "I'm happy to help. And I told you, it's just Blaine. We've known each other forever. There's no need for formality."

"I may have seen you run around this ranch butt-naked when you were a little boy, but I still work for you, you know?" Manuel pointed out with a chuckle.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "You work for my mother. She's the actual owner of the ranch. I just drop by for occasional visits."

"Not often enough, if you ask me," Manuel said, following Blaine outside as he went to get another straw bale. "Big cities… they wear you down. You look like you need some good Maryland air…"

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Blaine shrugged, and carried the next bale. "It's just hard to find time to escape New York for a while. There's always so much to do…"

"Yeah, yeah, you work, work, work all day long," Manuel murmured, shaking his head in disapproval. "When do you have fun? La vida es corta, señor Blaine."

Blaine piled up the second straw bale in the stable and turned back to Manuel with a little smirk on his face. "You're one to talk. I don't remember seeing you do anything but work. You live in the ranch, you spend your day with the animals, you never take breaks. I don't even remember seeing you go on vacation."

"Ah, but when you love something… it's not work," Manuel smiled at him, and Blaine had the feeling he was being slowly manipulated into a trap. "I have lived here all my life, raised my family here. I love every strand of grass, every breeze, every drop of water. When you love something, it's not work. You take care of it, just because that's what you do with the things you love."

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest and studied him. "You're going somewhere with this, aren't you?"

Manuel pointed at the house with a meaningful look on his face. "You and señor Kurt. You're having trouble, yes?"

Blaine made sure to school his face into something unreadable. He had a lot of practice with that, thanks to interrogating criminals and being friends with Santana. The woman could even extract secrets from statues. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You have spent the last two days with me, instead of being with your fiancé. I may have been handsome back in the day, but I don't believe for a second you don't prefer being with Kurt instead."

Manuel could be frustratingly sassy for an old man.

When Blaine remained silent, and simply leaned towards the dog, who was taking a nap by the stable's entrance, Manuel sighed. Blaine pretended not to hear and simply scratched behind the dog's ears, who wagged his tail sleepily in content.

"Look, _Blaine_ ," Manuel remarked, and Blaine couldn't help smiling at the deliberate lack of formality. "I say this because I care about you just like if you were one of my own boys. But if you love someone… you don't waste time on silly arguments. Don't avoid him instead of talking things out. You and me know… they're not going to be here forever. I would give my right arm, even my life, to see Daniela again, for just five more minutes. I'm sure you can think of a few persons you would like to see again…"

Blaine swallowed. There was a heavy knot in his throat that he didn't seem able to get rid of. _Cooper_. _My dad_.

"Whatever happened, I'm sure you can find a solution. Together."

Blaine nodded slowly, thoughtfully. This was a conversation he probably would have loved having with his own father or brother. He thought of when he was actually engaged, how easy it had seemed. He had never felt the need to go ask his family for relationship advice. And now that he needed it… there was no one to turn to.

"Would you risk everything to be with someone, even if you aren't sure it can work out?" Blaine asked, unable to stop himself. "Do you think that even the possibility of that person being _the one_ is worth the shot?"

_He's my assignment. I can't risk this. I can't. It could put him in danger. It could cloud my judgement. It could ruin everything. You're just bored, you need to go back to work._

_Then why did I feel the happiest I've felt in a long time when we kissed?_

"Blaine," Manuel said, a soft, understanding look on his face. "If love isn't worth risking it all for, then what is?"

Manuel walked out of the stable, the dog fast at his heels, and Blaine was left alone, feeling dizzy with doubts.

* * *

The apartment in Brooklyn had been empty for days. Watchful, slimy green eyes barely looked away from the door, as if afraid to miss the man he had been watching out for if he even blinked.

He liked coming here. He liked watching the tension, the exhaustion, the frustration dripping from Agent Anderson. Sometimes he fantasized about following him to the door, surprising him as he fished the keys out of his pockets. Would he look surprised, afraid? Would he even have time to reach for his gun before the knife went through his stomach?

But it wasn't as much fun without him here. He thought maybe Agent Anderson had gone stay with the man with the pretty blue eyes, but his apartment was empty too. He had a nice apartment. Everything had been in its place, smiling faces staring back from family pictures. His sheets had smelled so sweet, too…

He wanted to find him. He _needed_ to find him.

He had no doubt that wherever Anderson was, Pretty Man would be there, too. He was done waiting. It was time to _hunt_.

 _I'm coming for you, Kurt Hummel_ , he thought with a smile, as he turned around to walk away from the apartment. _And I know_ exactly _where to start looking for you…_

A beautiful woman with long brown hair passed him on the sidewalk, looking both ways before hurrying to cross the street, like she was late getting somewhere. She looked distracted, and even from the distance, he could tell she had big, blue eyes.

 _Ah, but first_ , he said to himself. _Let's create the perfect distraction._

He crossed the street after her.


	11. Chapter 11

Finn was having incredibly pleasant dreams. He was at the beach, and everything around him could be eaten - it was like some sort of sea-themed Hansel and Gretel. The sand was made of cookie dough, the umbrellas were giant candy, and the sea was Dr. Pepper. He grabbed a handful of sand and put it in his mouth. It was gooey and delicious.

Rachel was under one of the candy umbrellas, lying on a beach towel made of marshmallows. He wondered if the red bikini she was wearing could be eaten too. It looked like Red Vines from where he was standing…

Just as Rachel smiled wildly and gestured for him to come closer, there was a loud noise in his room and Finn woke up abruptly, too abruptly to remember why there was a Latino woman screaming at him, half in English, half in Spanish, to get up.

"I… what?" He asked, sitting up in bed sleepily.

"I _said_ ," Santana exclaimed impatiently, "that I need to get to the bureau."

"Uhm, okay? Then I guess I'll see you later? Unless Rachel's coming back?" Finn mumbled, his mouth feeling pasty.

Santana groaned in exasperation. "What part of having to be at a FBI agent's watch 24/7 don't you get? Get up, get dressed. You're coming with me."

Finn blinked at her, but when she looked like she was ready to simply drag him to the street in his boxers, he held a placating hand. "Fine. Jeez, I'm coming. Are you always this difficult in the middle of the night?"

"Only when I have to be away from my pregnant wife for two days because an incompetent agent can't do her damn job," Santana replied fiercely.

"Hey, Rachel's not incompetent!" Finn exclaimed, offended. When Santana regarded him with a raised eyebrow, he gaped like a fish out of the water as he thought of what to say. In the end, he simply murmured, angrily: "Weren't you in a hurry?"

"Yes, I'll meet you at the door in five minutes."

She left, banging the door behind her a little too forcefully. It was completely unnecessary, in Finn's opinion. When he glanced at the clock on his bedside table and saw that it was only four in the morning, he grabbed his pillow and threw it at the closed door.

Nevertheless, he got out of bed and pulled some pants on. He had no idea what was going on, but it didn't seem wise to get on Santana's bad side.

He missed how easy things had been with Rachel. He couldn't help wondering if she would ever come back.

* * *

Captain Jones walked into the conference room and the buzz of conversation died out immediately. She stood at the end of the long table and looked around the room at the agents, most of who seemed too sleepy to function properly. However, one gaze from Mercedes Jones had the same effect as a very strong coffee. They straightened up in their seats as they waited for her to talk.

"Most of you know why we're meeting here right now," she began, her voice loud in clear. She turned and pointed at the screen behind her with a remote control. The image of a crime scene appeared in it. "Megan Collins, 23 years old. She was meeting her friends for drinks in a bar in Brooklyn tonight, but she never made it there. A woman found her when she went out to walk her dog."

"Are there any leads in the crime scene?" Santana asked, unable to control herself. She needed to know more.

"Agents Berry, Castro, Phillips, Hart and Lowell were the first to arrive at the scene. We have no new leads, no eye-witnesses," Captain Jones explained. She clicked a button, and a closer photograph of the body appeared on the screen. There was a bloody red heart cut into the woman's abdomen. Her lifeless, scared eyes were open, looking up at nothing. "This continues to escalate. We cannot allow there to be any more victims. We already have Kurt Hummel in protection, his brother is accompanied by an agent at all times… how is it that we have absolutely no positive results? Agent Evans," she turned abruptly to the blonde man sitting by the middle of the table, who jumped at being talked to so out of nowhere. "Have you checked the data bases? Has his identikit shown any matches whatsoever?"

"Nothing," Sam replied, wishing he could say the opposite. "It's like he wasn't even born. We have no registry of him anywhere."

"His picture has been published in several newspapers and shown in pretty much every TV news channel in New York, but all we've got were wrong leads," Rachel said, always eager to participate. "People have been calling non-stop in a panic, claiming they've seen him, but it never turns out to be true."

Captain Jones sighed. "Alright, well, then we have to…"

"I believe he was here, in the bureau," Santana said so suddenly that everyone turned to look at her in shock. "I have no proof and that's why I never brought it up before, but…"

"What makes you say this?" Captain Jones asked, clearly scandalized that this had happened without her knowing. "Agent Lopez, if you think something as dangerous as that is going on in my own office, then you have to speak up."

"I'm sorry," Santana said, but as usual she didn't sound like she meant it. She was used to playing by her own rules. "I did handle the situation when it arose, and since there haven't been any developments since then…" Santana shrugged. "Agent Evans told me he believed someone had been through his stuff."

Sam raised his hands, as in self-defense. "I said I wasn't sure. I triple checked everything and nothing was missing. I could have been wrong."

"I don't think he was wrong," Santana retorted matter-of-factly. "But like I said, I can't prove anything. Agent Castro checked downstairs with security, and Agent Hart went through the security camera's footage. There was nothing suspicious."

Both agents nodded to show she was telling the truth. Captain Jones pinched the bridge of her nose, as if a headache was suddenly developing.

"We have to be more careful from now on. I don't want to think this man was right here under our noses and we didn't catch him," she said firmly. "Now, we need a new plan, because clearly nothing we're doing is working, and this is unacceptable. So who wants to bring some ideas onto the table?"

No one seemed too desperate to be the first to talk.

They were all completely lost, unsure how to handle this. Rachel and Santana shared a quick glance: if Blaine had been there, he would have proposed ten new strategies, all thoroughly-planned. It wasn't the same without him here. He was a fierce team leader, and each and every one in this office trusted him blindly. It was difficult to fill that empty space.

"Okay…" Santana said, after exchanging one more look with Rachel. They both got up. "Do we have a map with all the attacks? Can we determine a particular area? Where did this one happen?"

Agent Evans was already spreading a large New York map on the table. Mercedes came over and pointed at a street in Brooklyn. "It was here."

Rachel frowned. "That's about two blocks from Blaine's apartment."

"He's never attacked in Brooklyn before," Santana pointed out, leaning over the map to take a better look. "He's always stuck to Manhattan. The first one was near the park, here. There was another one on Kensington, then the one near Chinatown… and the one by Hummel's apartment in the Lower East Side…"

"What are you saying?" Captain Jones asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What Santana is saying is that he's changed his pattern. Again," Rachel replied. "First he changed it when Mr. Hummel saw him, and went after him. He had never done that before. He's only ever chased women. And now he went all the way to Brooklyn to kill this girl. But why this girl?"

"I'm more interested in knowing why he was so close to Blaine's apartment," Santana murmured. She mumbled a few words no one understood, her brain clearly working too fast to even explain to the rest of the agents what she was trying to get at.

"Don't you think that could be a coincidence?" Hart asked shrugging. "The third attack was about three blocks from my apartment. I don't think there's a connection there."

"No, but… Blaine's in charge. I don't know…" Santana sighed. "I feel like there's something there. I just need some time to figure out what."

"We don't have much time. We need to do something in the meantime," Captain Jones said. "It looked like you two were going somewhere with this. What was it?"

Rachel and Santana looked at each other once more, before Rachel said: "Bait."

"We send undercover female agents to the areas where he usually strikes, and we wait to see if he bites," Santana sat back on her chair and looked around the conference room. "It's not the most brilliant idea we've ever had, but let's face it… we have nothing. He's proven to be pretty impossible to catch. Let's try a new angle."

Captain Jones kept glancing over the map. "That could lead us nowhere, but at least it's an idea. Anyone else feels like sharing with the class?"

The meeting continued like that for at least another hour. By the time they started walking out of the conference room, they were feeling quite discouraged. Never had a case seemed so important and yet so frustratingly difficult.

* * *

Finn was sitting at one of the desks in the main floor, spinning his chair around in absolute boredom. He stopped when he saw the meeting was over and stood up. Both Santana and Rachel approached him.

"How did it go?" He asked anxiously.

"It could have been a lot better," Santana muttered, clearly in a mood.

Rachel tried for a reassuring smile, even though she felt so uselessly nervous. "Well, the good news is that if he's still out and about in New York, Kurt is safe. He's not going after him."

"Do you think maybe he forgot about Kurt altogether?" Finn said, his eyes lighting up with hope.

Rachel wasn't a hundred percent sure, but she guessed it couldn't hurt to put a little optimism into this whole ordeal. "It looks like it. Let's hope he did."

Santana watched them silently for a few seconds and then groaned. "Look, it's actually exhausting watching you two, so I'm gonna go get a cup of coffee and get to work. Berry, you are more than welcomed to resume your assignment and take Hudson back to his place. I am done with that."

Rachel gaped for a moment, and then sighed. "Of course. My errands are all done, after all."

"Right, errands," Santana repeated, rolling her eyes. "Have fun with that."

She gave Finn an awfully strong pat on the back, and then left them alone.

"Ready to go?" Rachel asked with an awkward smile.

Finn looked so elated, Santana would have said the sun was shining out of his ass. Rachel was glad she hadn't seen him.

"I'm ready," he replied.

Rachel wasn't sure she was.

* * *

He was back in that phone booth. It was so dark outside that he couldn't see the killer lurking around it, but he knew, without a single doubt, that he was there. He tried to grab the phone to call the police, but as soon as he touched it, it began to melt in his hand.

"No, no, no, please," Kurt murmured desperately.

There was a flash of light, like lightning during a storm, and he realized he wasn't alone inside the booth.

The dead girl's body was right next to him, so close that he could feel her still-warm blood as it poured freely from her.

And then the pounding started.

Kurt covered his ears and closed his eyes tightly, waiting for it to stop. But the killer wouldn't stop, wouldn't leave him alone - he continued to pound on the booth's wall, trying to break in, trying to get to him…

How long would it hold? How long until it was his blood dropping on the ground?

The pounding grew so much that he could feel it vibrating inside his own head. He had no way to escape this. He was going to die.

He screamed so loud, it felt as if his insides were being torn apart.

"Kurt!"

He opened his eyes. He wasn't in that blood-smelling phone booth. He was still in Maryland, sitting up in bed, and completely drenched in sweat. But the pounding continued, and it took a few seconds for him to realize it didn't come from his dream.

It was the bedroom door, and Blaine calling his name on the other side.

"Kurt! I'm coming in!" He announced. And then the door was open, and Blaine stood there, bathed by the light coming from the hallway, dressed in sweatpants and a soft blue t-shirt. "Hey. Hey, are you okay?"

Kurt allowed himself a moment to try to get his breathing back to normal. It wasn't easy. If he blinked, he could still see the girl's body, the gleam of the knife as it moved towards him; he could almost feel the killer's breath on his skin.

He shivered and covered his face with his hands, forcing himself to calm down. It was stupid to feel like this. He was safe. He had managed to escape.

He felt the bed dip and looked up, finding Blaine carefully sitting next to him, but still keeping a respectful and careful distance. It was too dark to see every detail of his face, but Kurt found the worry in his eyes, the slight burrow of his eyebrows as he stared at him. Blaine's hand was resting on the bedspread not far from his knee, like he was considering reaching out and touching Kurt to offer his comfort, but clearly unsure if it would be welcomed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Kurt muttered quietly, embarrassed. He was a grown man and should have been able to deal with this a little better.

"It's fine, I wasn't sleeping," Blaine replied, offering a little smile. "I know it's a stupid question, but are you okay?"

"I don't know," Kurt replied, shaking his head. Then he sighed, and said: "Yes. Yes, of course I'm okay. I'm just an idiot. I should get this under control, I should…"

"It's not your fault, Kurt," Blaine said kindly. "It's understandable, after what you went through. You've had your entire life suddenly shaken up, changed. Please don't feel bad about this."

Kurt opened his mouth to answer, but then promptly closed it. He had suddenly realized how close Blaine was, the closest he'd been in a couple of days. Since the kiss incident, Blaine had kept his distance, like even being in the same room was too much. He wondered if Blaine felt too bad for him, pitied him. It stung to think like that, but he had no idea why else he would be here right now, after avoiding him so carefully since that night.

Blaine cleared his throat. Apparently Kurt wasn't the only one who suddenly perceived how awkward the air had seemed to get between them. "If you're okay, then I should let you go back to sleep…"

"I don't think that's happening any time soon," Kurt said tiredly. It was still dark outside, the moon shone through the curtains in the window.

Blaine stood up. "Well, then how about some coffee? It'll be morning soon anyway."

Kurt still didn't know why Blaine wasn't avoiding him anymore, but he was so grateful that he could have cried in relief. "Sure. That sounds fantastic."

Blaine gave him a quick smile. "Great. I'll go make a fresh pot, just come join me when you're ready."

Kurt turned on the light as Blaine closed the door behind him. He was still drenched in sweat, and he felt disgusting. He got out of bed and grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a grey t-shirt before he headed into the bathroom for a quick shower.

By the time he entered the kitchen, Blaine was standing next to the coffee maker, leaning against the counter and completely lost in thought, his whiskey eyes wandering out the window. There seemed to be something different about him - he still looked as tired as usual, and considering how many sleepless nights he'd had since they had arrived at the ranch, Kurt wasn't surprised. But, oddly, he seemed a little more at peace, like some of the tension that had been constantly residing on his shoulders had melted away.

Kurt didn't understand, but he also didn't question it.

"There you are," Blaine said, another quick smile coming to his face. He grabbed a couple of mugs from the cabinet and reached for the pot. "Right on time."

Once he had his cup of coffee in his hands - was there anything more comforting than the warmth of a coffee cup between his hands? - he followed Blaine outside to the gallery. They sat down on the comfortable white chairs and looked at the night sky still splattered with stars. Kurt may have been a city man who missed the sound of the subway and the lights of Time Square, but he had to admit that Bahay Ranch was absolutely breathtaking.

He watched as Blaine took a sip of coffee. The ranch wasn't the only breathtaking thing he could see.

Kurt looked away. There was no need to go down that path again.

"Have you heard from Finn and Agent Berry again?" Kurt asked.

"No, but that's actually good news," Blaine replied. "It means they are safe."

Kurt nodded. He wanted to talk to Finn again, but he wasn't sure if Blaine would allow it. The FBI had strict rules, and Kurt didn't want to get Blaine into trouble by making him break them.

"Did you and Finn grow up together?" Blaine asked, pulling Kurt from his own thoughts. "I mean, I did notice you call him your brother, but you two have different last names, and…"

"Our parents got married when we were juniors in high school," Kurt explained. "We've been through so much together, it feels like we have the same blood running through our veins. Sometimes I forget he's actually my stepbrother." Blaine was looking at him, like inviting him to tell him more, so Kurt sipped his coffee for a moment before he continued. "I was bullied a lot in high school. Finn was always there for me when I needed him. He never knew his father, I lost my mom when I was eight… it was important for us to have a family, so I guess that we just… gravitated towards each other." Kurt shrugged. "He found a dad who gladly took him to the Buckeyes games, and I found a mom who went shopping with me. Things fell into place when our parents fell in love. It was kind of magical, actually."

"It sounds magical," Blaine agreed with a smile.

"I know my dad loved my mother, that they meant everything to each other, but I think he was always destined to meet Carole, to have her in his life. It's like we were four pieces of the same puzzle. Dad always said that my mom was the one who sent him Carole, like some sort of guardian angel," Kurt ran his finger around the mug's edge, looking at the dark liquid swirling inside. "I was never a spiritual guy, I don't believe in those things, but… I don't know, I guess it's a nice thought."

"Sometimes the thought is enough to make you feel better. You don't have to believe in everything, but you need some comfort. You can't just close the doors to every explanation, every possibility," Blaine murmured, his gaze fixed on some point near the gate. "When my dad and Cooper died, I struggled a lot with the matter of the afterlife. My mom started going to church a lot, and that's where she found comfort. I'm not like her, I'm more logic-oriented, I need physical proof of everything, but… sometimes I wish I believed."

"Sometimes I wish I believed, too," Kurt whispered, and they looked at each other.

There was something charged in that look, like they were trying to glance straight into each other's souls, trying to read every secret, every memory. Kurt felt himself growing warm, felt the sudden racing of his heart, and had to look away.

"So your dad and Carole…" Blaine said, the implication clear in his voice.

"Yeah, they passed away. Dad had a heart condition. He had a heart attack when I was in high school, then again when I was in college, and one last time about three years ago. It was out of nowhere, we were all devastated, but Carole just couldn't deal with the loss, and she died a year later. Never let anyone tell you that heartbreaks can't kill you," Kurt sighed. He remembered standing next to Finn at her funeral, thinking how he hadn't loved as intensely as Carole and his dad. He had been dating a guy back then, and he almost immediately broke up with him when he returned to New York. It wasn't love, and it had taken losing his stepmother to realize that.

"That's so sad. I'm so sorry, Kurt," Blaine mumbled, and instinctively reached a hand towards him. His fingers enveloped Kurt's, squeezed them briefly in comfort, and then let go. Kurt followed the entire movement with his blue eyes, and couldn't help but shiver when Blaine's touch lingered a little longer before letting go completely.

"Thank you. It was… it wasn't easy. It's never easy to lose your family," Kurt murmured.

"No," Blaine looked down into his cup of coffee. "It's not."

"Do you ever…" Kurt interrupted himself, not sure if he was overstepping or not. But then Blaine looked at him, and he seemed so open, like there was nothing Kurt could say that he couldn't take, that Kurt decided it was worth the risk. "You said your mom is mad at you because you're still at the FBI. Do you ever think about quitting?"

"I can't," Blaine replied, not even hesitating for a second. "I understand her, I really do. I could be anything else in the world, but I chose to be an FBI agent, and… you know, sometimes this job means you die. It's part of it. It's not fun or nice or perfect, but it's just the way it is. I could be a pizza delivery guy or a doctor or an architect or a teacher, but this is what I choose to be, every single day. It's what I am. It's _who_ I am. And I'm not going to lie, it's exhausting sometimes. It's frustrating. In other jobs, if you make a mistake, you may get fired or suspended, but here… you make a mistake and you die. I understand her fear, but I can't give up because of it. FBI agents can die on the job, but we save lives. I can't imagine walking away from that."

Kurt's heart constricted in his chest. "You're so…"

"Don't say I'm brave," Blaine cut him off softly. "It's not about bravery. It's about doing the right thing." He took a sip of coffee, before he said: "The day my dad and Cooper died, we saved twenty four people. Who am I to play it safe when there are people out there who depend on me?"

"It sounds like an extremely difficult life," Kurt commented, watching Blaine with a slight, worried frown. "Maybe even lonely."

"It is," Blaine nodded slowly. "But only because I haven't learned how to have it all yet."

Kurt wasn't sure what to say to that. Blaine seemed suddenly distracted by the first rays of sunlight that had started caressing the horizon. Kurt watched as well, how the light gradually bathed the earth before them, and the sky started to become clearer, beautifully painted in strips of orange, pink and light blue. His hand still tingled with the memory of Blaine's touch. He wondered what it meant.

Kurt tried to remember when it had been the last time he had seen a sunrise. He couldn't think of a single morning that felt as special or important as this one. It was his first sunrise in Maryland, and it was also his first sunrise with someone who made him feel like he understood what his father and Carole had felt.

He wondered if that should have scared him, but now, in this beautiful gallery with a new day just beginning, he felt oddly at peace.

* * *

Blaine wasn't sure how long they were sitting there together, without saying a word, but feeling completely at ease with each other. There was something about Kurt that made the rest of the world disappear, like nothing could touch him, like he was suddenly in a bubble where everything was wonderful.

He decided they could just stay out here in the gallery forever, so that feeling wouldn't have to end.

He was about to offer Kurt another cup of coffee when his phone began ringing. He fished it out of his sweatpants' pocket, and frowned when he saw it was Santana calling. It was still early, even early for someone as hard-working as Santana to already be at the office.

He saw Kurt sitting up straight, reacting to the worry in his own face as he accepted the call.

"Santana," he said in greeting.

"Oh good, you're up," she said on the other end, and he could already perceive the tension in her voice. "I was afraid you'd be asleep, though knowing you, you have spent the past couple of weeks pacing around the ranch worrying about…"

"Santana, what's wrong?" Blaine interrupted. When Santana rambled, things were serious.

She sighed, and her exhaustion was almost palpable. "He did it again, Blaine. He killed another girl last night."

There was a bitter taste in Blaine's mouth. It didn't take long for him to recognize it as the taste of failure and disappointment. What the hell was he doing hiding in his family's ranch while his team was out there trying to catch this bastard? He couldn't keep sitting on his ass.

"Rachel and I think…" Santana paused, probably considering if it was wise to give Blaine more information when he couldn't be more involved in the case. "It was just a few blocks from your apartment. He's never operated in Brooklyn before. No one else thinks there's a connection, but…"

"You two think he's looking for me now?" Blaine said, confused. "Why would he…?"

"I don't know, and I hope I'm wrong. I just… I thought you needed to know," Santana said.

Blaine leaned against the balustrade and closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry I'm not there. I should be with you, helping you…"

"I'm not calling to make you feel bad about not being here, Anderson. I'm calling because I know you don't like to be left out. Captain Jones doesn't even know I'm calling you, so don't get me into trouble." He could hear the exasperation in her voice. He missed her like crazy. "You're exactly where you need to be."

Blaine looked over his shoulder. Kurt was sitting on the edge of his seat, watching him and waiting for news. His face was vulnerable, his blue eyes so wide Blaine could have fallen into them. His hands were tangled on his lap, showing his anxiety.

He _was_ exactly where he needed to be. Maybe he wasn't running around the streets of New York City trying to catch the killer, but what he was doing was even more important than that. He was protecting something - _someone_ \- that really mattered.

_When you love something, it's not work. You take care of it, just because that's what you do with the things you love._

Blaine felt as if he couldn't breathe. He had no idea what was going to happen next, but he did know one thing: saving Kurt Hummel's life was the most important mission he would ever have.


	12. Chapter 12

After Blaine told Kurt everything Santana had said, it seemed as if the day had grown cold. Kurt sat in the gallery, his arms around himself and looked at the distance. He was quiet, but Blaine could see a million thoughts crossing his stunningly blue eyes.

"That poor girl," Kurt said at last.

"Well, Santana did point out one positive thing in this," Blaine said, leaning against the balustrade as he continued studying Kurt. Kurt arched an eyebrow in question. "If he is still in New York and he's back to his usual targets, it means he may have given up on you."

He didn't mention what Santana had said about the area the murder had taken place in. Kurt didn't need to know about how close he'd been to Blaine's apartment.

"How am I supposed to feel better?" Kurt sighed. "That girl is still dead."

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Blaine murmured as he ran a hand through his dark curls. He sat down again, and leaned closer to Kurt. "Santana said Finn was at the bureau. He's okay. He was going back home with Rachel soon."

The corners of Kurt's mouth tugged upwards. He knew Blaine was trying to cheer him up. "I'm glad he's safe. That's all I care about right now."

"I know," Blaine said softly. He took a deep breath. "Look, Kurt…"

"¡Buenos días!" A voice said, startling them both. They looked up and found Manuel walking towards them, the shepherd dog trailing behind him, her tail wagging happily. "Early birds. What are you doing up?"

"Just enjoying the fresh air," Blaine replied. "Good morning to you too, Manuel."

"Well, I'm happy to see you two together," he said, not bothering to be subtle about it. "I was just coming to tell you that I will be going into town today. I'm visiting my son."

"That's fantastic," Blaine smiled at him. "Tell Daniel I say hi."

"I will, señor Blaine. Do you need me to pick up anything for you while I'm gone?" Manuel asked.

"No, we're okay, I think," Blaine shook his head, and glanced at Kurt. "Unless you need anything?"

"You should take him into town, have dinner at a restaurant, walk around a little," Manuel interrupted. "What kind of romantic vacation is this? Treat your fiancé right, señor Blaine."

Kurt bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Blaine was so red he was afraid his head would set on fire. "We like it here just fine, thank you."

Manuel looked disapproving. "Ni siquiera lo lleva a cenar. Debería darle vergüenza, señor Blaine…"

"Manuel, you know my Spanish is not good enough to understand all of that," Blaine said, rolling his eyes.

"Not my problem," Manuel said, and Kurt looked ready to burst out cackling. Manuel really was sassy when he was in the mood for it. "I'm going now. You two have fun. Ramona, stay," he told the dog, who obediently sat down next to Blaine.

They watched the old man walk to his old truck, and didn't say a word until he was driving down the dirt road and getting lost in the distance.

"I love that man," Kurt said, laughing. "He's not afraid to speak his mind, huh?"

"Never was," Blaine said fondly, scratching behind Ramona's ears. "Would you like some breakfast? I'm starving."

"I'll make the pancakes, you make more coffee?" Kurt said, as he stood up, and Blaine had to put all of his energy into stopping himself from reaching out for him, stroking his hair, pressing his lips to the perfect line of his jaw.

Instead, he just followed him back into the house.

* * *

After a breakfast filled with sneaky glances when they thought the other wasn't watching, Kurt settled on the kitchen table with the typewriter and Blaine went outside to check on the animals and feed them in Manuel's absence. Neither said anything, but they could probably use a few minutes of solitude to calm their racing hearts.

Something seemed to have shifted between them that morning, and they needed a moment alone to figure it out.

Kurt was struck by inspiration. He didn't pause to truly think things through - instead, he typed as fast as his fingers allowed him to, pouring everything he was feeling onto the blank page before him. He had no idea if it was any good, but for now, what truly mattered was to get it all out.

His conversation with Blaine out in the gallery swirled around his head. He remembered his smile, the touch of his fingers, so gently and sweet. Blaine had opened up to him, and this time he had done it willingly, and not because Kurt had unknowingly stepped past his boundaries. But why? Why had Blaine decided to talk to him so candidly? Why had he shared his story and his memories with Kurt, after being so cold the past few days?

What had changed?

Maybe Blaine had realized that it was too hard to live together in this ranch ignoring each other. Maybe he had grown too lonely, and had decided it was better to reach for Kurt.

Or maybe… just maybe…

No. Kurt couldn't go there. His life was already too complicated to allow himself to fall in love with Blaine. Agent Anderson. The man his life depended on.

His fingers stopped on the keyboard and he once again glanced at the page. His life had become so incredibly extraordinary that he wondered if he should have been writing about that instead. But no, he needed the comfort of losing himself in a fictional world, or putting his characters through issues he could actually find a resolution to. He had no idea how to fix his own life, not now, not when everything seemed to be hanging by a thread.

He had nightmares. He wasn't allowed to go home. He couldn't see his brother. He was having feelings he couldn't act on for the man responsible for his safety.

There wouldn't be a simple ending to his story.

* * *

Blaine hid away in the stable for a while. Feeding the horses, making sure they had enough water and brushing their manes gave him a perfect excuse to stay away from the house for a while. He told himself there was nothing unusual about the way his heart was beating, so fast it seemed ready to gallop off his chest.

There was something about Kurt… oh, Blaine had known love before. He had been an extremely lucky man who had known many types of love: the kind of love you can only get from a wonderful family; love from faithful and fierce friendships; real world-turning romantic love, the kind that had made him get down on his knee and ask his boyfriend to marry him. And it was so premature to call what Kurt made him feel _love_ , but if it wasn't it, then it was getting so dangerously close. With every conversation they shared, with every new piece of himself that Kurt decided to give to Blaine, with the way his blue eyes looked into his like there wasn't anything else that mattered…

Too dangerously close.

Blaine had never needed to draw the line between his professional life and his personal life before. He had always known the limits, and he was proud to say he was a good agent. He knew the risks of getting involved with someone he worked with - whether it was a fellow agent or someone else involved in one of his cases. He had always been sensible.

But Kurt made him want to do crazy things. He made him want to forget the outside world, never go back to New York City, stop worrying about all the awful things that happened in the world every single day: he couldn't catch every murderer, he couldn't stop people from hurting, he couldn't make everyone's lives better by just snapping his fingers. It was a cruel, cold world out there and he had learned that the hard way. He had seen things he wished he could unseen. So what if the killer was still out there? Even if they caught him, there would be more. But he could close his eyes on reality, stay here with Kurt. Maybe, just maybe, if he had read the signs right…

Maybe Kurt wouldn't mind staying here with him.

They could be safe. Together and safe. To Blaine, right now, that sounded like the best kind of paradise.

He leaned against the stable wall, and looked down at Ramona, who looked back at him as if seriously questioning his sanity.

"I know," he murmured to the dog. "I am completely out of my mind. I shouldn't even be thinking about this, it's so…"

Unprofessional. Unreal. Impossible. He thought of a million adjectives, but he couldn't bring himself to saying any of them. Because a part of him, one that he had buried down deep inside of him in the past months, craved it. He could imagine himself with Kurt - it was so, so easy to imagine it that it scared him, leaving him breathless - and he was so certain that the fire would burn so nicely between them. The chemistry was already there, they just needed to ignite the sparks.

Blaine banged his head against the stable wall, as if trying to force some sense back into himself.

"It's just the isolation," he said, and Ramona tilted her head at him. "We're alone together, with nothing to distract us but each other. I'm sure Kurt wouldn't even glance at me if he was safe, back in New York, and we were just strangers in the street. Right?"

The dog, of course, didn't reply. She just started chasing her own tail, and Blaine groaned in frustration.

He left the stable. The sky was turning grey, threatening clouds gathering above the ranch and covering the sun. He could see through the kitchen window as he walked to the hen house. Kurt was sitting at the kitchen table, his fingers typing at the speed of light. His profile was elegant, sharp, like he had been carved out of the most precious material in the world. He was stunningly beautiful, and Blaine knew it wasn't a product of the isolation: he would have been blinded by Kurt anywhere.

"No," he told himself. "Stop it. You've just been on your own for too long. Don't do this. Don't make things worse, don't…"

_If love isn't worth risking it all for, then what is?_

"Damn you, Manuel," Blaine muttered, and turned his back to the house so he wouldn't see Kurt anymore.

Still, his heart kept beating out of control, as if it had been powered just by the sight of him.

Blaine did his best to ignore it.

* * *

Kurt looked up from the typewriter when Blaine walked into the kitchen a while later. It seemed like they gazed at each other for a few seconds longer than normal before either of them spoke.

"Hey," Kurt said at last with a little smile. He gestured towards the fridge. "Are you hungry? Maybe I can make some sandwiches or something. We kinda skipped lunch…"

"It looks like it's going to rain soon, so I was actually going to go for a run before that happens," Blaine replied. "But you can go ahead and eat if you want…"

"Oh, no, I'm not that hungry," Kurt shrugged and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. Blaine did his best not to stare at the sliver of skin that was suddenly visible when his shirt rode up. "Would you mind if I join you? If I keep sitting here without doing anything, I won't be able to fit into my costume when we go back."

Blaine forced himself to remove his eyes from Kurt stomach and made them travel all the way up to his face instead. "Uhm, sure. I'll go get changed into my work out clothes. Meet you by the door in five?"

"That sounds perfect," Kurt said with a radiant smile.

When they met again, Blaine was wearing a ratty FBI shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants that did wonders to highlight the roundness of his ass, and Kurt was wearing yoga pants, so tight that they left nothing to the imagination. Blaine had to be incredibly strong to keep himself from staring as they went out the door. Kurt, walking behind him, tried but failed. Agent Blaine Anderson was one hell of a piece of art.

It was true, the sky had grown grey outside. The clouds looked heavy, like they would collapse and fall upon the house any minute now. Kurt's eyes stayed up, watching for any signs of rain, as he followed Blaine, slowly picking up pace.

It was difficult to keep up with Blaine at first. Kurt was athletic, he was in shape, and his body was used to being pushed to its very limits. But it had been a few weeks since his last workout, and his muscles were already feeling it. He could tell Blaine slowed down as not to leave him behind, and he appreciated it.

Blaine was fine for the first ten minutes. He enjoyed the breeze on his face, and the smell of imminent rain always put him in a great mood. But once those things stopped distracting him, he realized all he could hear was the sound Kurt's breathing. The more they run, more he panted, and Blaine didn't expect it to send a pang of arousal all through him. It was just _breathing_ , what the hell was wrong with him? And then he made the mistake of glancing at Kurt to see if he needed to stop or run a little slower, and found a drop of sweat slowly making its way down Kurt's neck and into the collar of his t-shirt.

Running had been a terrible idea.

Blaine stopped suddenly. He wasn't tired - he was used to running longer distances - but he felt as if he would suffocate if he kept running. He doubled in half and settled his palms on his thighs, taking deep breaths.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, confused. "Do you need water or…?"

"I'm fine, just…" _Control yourself_ , Blaine thought angrily. _What are you? A teenager?_ "I just need a second." _Decomposing corpses. Roadkill. Bad breath. That time I chased that guy into a sewer and I had to shower ten times to get the smell off…_ "Okay, let's go."

"Are you sure?" Kurt tilted his head as he regarded him. "You seem a little weird."

Blaine straightened up, and was about to reply, when there was a loud thunder that made both of them jump. Immediately after, it seemed as if the sky had suddenly cracked, and an extraordinary amount of rain began pouring on them. Kurt shrieked and covered his head, which was pointless because he was soaked in a matter of seconds.

"Let's go back inside!" Kurt exclaimed, having to raise his tone to make himself heard.

Blaine simply nodded and turned back towards the house. They ran as fast as they could, the rain clouding their vision. Kurt almost slipped, and Blaine quickly reached out for him, holding his hand to keep him upright. Kurt's fingers twined with his without a word, and they kept running like that, hands linked between them.

Blaine was grateful for the loud storm, because he was sure Kurt would have heard the wild beating of his heart otherwise.

By the time Blaine pushed the door open to slip inside, Kurt was laughing. It was a shocking sound - since they had arrived at the ranch, the general mood hadn't allowed much laughter. But now it was coming out of him like the dam had broken and Blaine just stared at him, fascinated.

Kurt didn't even know why he was laughing. He just knew he suddenly felt a lot lighter than he had felt in past few days. It was like the storm had washed away his doubts and fears. It wasn't until he stopped laughing to catch his breath that he realized he was still holding onto Blaine's hand.

"Oh," he muttered. "I'm sorry, I…"

"Kurt, I…" Blaine said, his voice soft and quiet, like he was scared to break the spell that had fallen on them.

But before he could say anything, there was a loud pop and the lights in the house went out. They broke away merely out of surprise, as Blaine turned around.

"Oh damn," Blaine said, and grabbed his cellphone from the coffee table to illuminate his path to the kitchen. It was so dark outside thanks to the storm that it seemed that the nighttime had decided to arrive early. "I should have some candles in the kitchen. Help me light them up? Hopefully the power will come back soon..." He glanced at the screen of his phone. "Looks like the phone service is down, too."

"Does this happen often?" Kurt asked, as he followed him into the kitchen.

"Well, I haven't come here in a while, but I remember it happening a few times when I was younger," Blaine explained as he opened a few cabinets. "Yes, here they are."

Kurt held Blaine's cellphone up to provide some light while Blaine looked for the matches and candle holders. "Do we have enough candles? Should we save some for later?" He asked, and before Blaine could reply, he added: "Careful with the wa…"

" _Shit_ ," Blaine uttered, as hot wax leaked on his finger.

"Are you okay? Let me see," Kurt said, moving closer. "You're pretty clumsy for a FBI agent…" he teased with a crooked smile.

"Oh shut up," Blaine chuckled, as Kurt cradled his hand between his own to take a look. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

"Maybe you should run some cold water on it," Kurt suggested, and when he looked up, they both realized how close they were again.

It was like they were sitting on a rollercoaster: they knew what was coming, and the adrenaline was high. There was a bubbling in their stomachs, anticipation becoming liquid inside of them and running through their veins. Kurt must have felt it burst first, because without looking away from Blaine's eyes, he put his lips to Blaine's hand and kissed the spot where the wax had landed.

Blaine's breath stuttered in his chest. It was like his whole body was short-circuiting just from that simple touch. And that was enough to break the rest of his barriers.

He surged forward, his hands finding purchase on the sides of Kurt's face and neck, drawing him closer as he pressed their lips together. Kurt was immediately grabbing him by the shirt, fists tight on his chest, as if he wanted to melt into him.

Blaine felt desperate. It was as if all his frustration and loneliness from the past year was suddenly being poured into the kiss. His lips closed around Kurt's bottom one, sucking it into his mouth, grazing his teeth across it, eliciting the softest, most delicious moan from Kurt.

"Oh Blaine…"

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Blaine murmured, allowing his lips to roam towards Kurt's jaw and down the column of his neck. Everything about him was simply exquisite.

"Don't you dare stop," Kurt said fiercely, and buried his fingers into Blaine's wet hair, urging him to go on.

Blaine licked the drops of water and sweat from his skin almost greedily. "You know this is crazy, right?"

"I like crazy. I live for crazy," Kurt groaned, throwing his head back to give Blaine better access. " _You_ drive me crazy. And now shut up and keep kissing me."

"Mm, so demanding," Blaine whispered, as he ran the tip of his tongue down Kurt's neck, who shivered in response.

"I know what I want," Kurt replied, his eyes fluttering close.

To his dismay, those words made Blaine pull away. But when he looked at him, he found nothing but the purest, most ardent desire in his whiskey eyes.

"What do you want, Kurt?" He asked, his lips already swollen from the kissing.

"This. You," Kurt answered, shaking his head, his hands moving over Blaine's shirt frantically, as if hesitant about whether he was allowed to remove it or not. "I know this is insane, and that we should stop but… god, I don't want to."

It was Kurt who moved forward now, capturing Blaine's mouth in a searing kiss. The storm seemed to rattle the house, but neither of them noticed. They had forgotten about the power outage and the storm. They had even forgotten about the threat that had taken them there in the first place. Nothing else existed in that ranch anymore, except them and the million kisses they wanted to share.

Blaine had forgotten how beautifully consuming the fire of passion could be. With every kiss he burned a little brighter, pulled Kurt closer, tasted the sweetness of his mouth, the salty of his skin, and the sensuality of his every sigh, his every move. Kurt was like velvet in his arms, soft and pliant, molding himself against Blaine's body like he wanted to become one with him.

Blaine felt his legs give a little, so he directed Kurt to the first available spot where he could find support. He dropped down on a kitchen chair and guided Kurt to sit on his lap, his long legs straddling him. He could feel Kurt was hard through the thin layer of his yoga pants, and for a moment, Blaine thought he was about to lose his mind. This man, this gorgeous, fearless, kind man _wanted_ him.

"Your clothes are all wet," Kurt murmured, as he peppered Blaine's jawline with quick little kisses. "You should take them off before you get a cold."

Blaine groaned as Kurt latched onto his Adam's apple and began sucking lightly there. "So you want me to get off my clothes just because you don't want me to get sick?"

"I'm a decent human being," Kurt replied, his fingers already toying with the hem of Blaine's wet shirt. "Plus, I may or may not want to kiss every inch of your skin."

Blaine threw his head back. "Kurt. You can't just say things like that."

"Yes, I can. Watch me," Kurt shrugged, tugging on the shirt to get it off. Blaine obliged, raising his arms above his head. Kurt discarded the shirt on the floor, his hands falling on Blaine's chest. "Correction, I may or may not want to kiss _and bite_ every inch of your skin."

Blaine tried not to think about how long it had been since the last time he had had sex. Long enough to make him worry about this being over way too quickly. With the way Kurt was talking and moving, he wasn't sure if he could hold back. He wanted to tear Kurt's clothes off his body and touch every inch of him. He wanted to press him against a wall and kiss him breathless, rub against him until pleasure made them explode. He wanted to take him to bed and pound into him relentlessly, and then switch and let Kurt fuck him hard and deep, the way he had always liked it…

Blaine moaned and shut his eyes tightly. He needed to slow down or he would truly come embarrassingly fast. "Kurt…"

"Yes?" Kurt muttered, busy sucking the sensitive spot behind Blaine's ear as he slowly started rocking on his lap.

But Blaine couldn't remember what he was about to say. Instead, he reached for Kurt's soaked t-shirt and tugged on it until Kurt raised his arms to let him remove it. Pressing their chests together without any kind of barrier between them threatened once again with sending Blaine right to the edge. But he swallowed, took a deep breath and looked into Kurt's eyes, trying to ground himself.

"You look worried," Kurt murmured, his thumbs tracing circles around Blaine's nipples. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." It was hard focusing when Kurt was doing that. Everything was difficult when Kurt was so close to him. Blaine just wanted to let himself go, forget everything and surrender to these amazingly overwhelming feelings. "Is it okay if I do this?" He asked, as his hands moved to the waistband of Kurt's yoga pants.

Kurt groaned, raising his hips immediately. " _Yes_. Please."

They fumbled with each other's pants, clumsily attempting to remove them while not breaking the heat between them. They were being silly, of course, because nothing could make the heat between them disappear. It had been simmering for the past few days, waiting for them to finally let it burst, explode, grow. And now it was inextinguishable.

There was no going back.

They were naked, pressed together, already panting and hard. Blaine was suddenly afraid to touch him - Kurt looked so perfect he was scared the vision would shatter before his eyes, that this would all be a dream. But then Kurt was kissing him again, his tongue asking for permission to enter his mouth, and Blaine was lost, completely lost to the sensations, the pleasure and the closeness.

As Kurt's tongue teased his, Blaine wrapped his hand around their cocks, making Kurt gasp and rock against him. It was amazing to feel him hard and ready like this, to know Kurt wanted it as much as he did.

"Like this?" Blaine asked in a whisper, just as the house shook with another bolt of thunder.

" _Yes_ ," Kurt answered, his hands going to Blaine's shoulders as if looking for support. "God, Blaine, it feels so good."

Blaine stroked a little faster, circling both heads with his thumb to gather the pre-come and make the glide a little easier. He loved the desperate little mewls that escaped from Kurt's lips, the way he moved against him as if he couldn't get enough. Blaine wished they had lube and condoms - using his hands - and mouth - wouldn't be enough. He needed more. He needed everything.

The chair creaked under them as they both began to thrust against the other, eager for more. Blaine wasn't sure where to look at: at Kurt's face, an incredibly erotic view, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his brows furrowed in intense pleasure? Or down at his own hand, where his fingers closed around their cocks, so different from each other and yet fitting so well, it was like they were meant to be pressed together? Kurt's cock was longer, leaner, its head so smooth it seemed as if it had been sculpted out of porcelain. Blaine wondered what it would feel like in his mouth, what sounds Kurt would make as he sucked him off…

It was too much. Blaine felt himself begin to shudder with the vibrations of his orgasm. It hit him like a freight train: it seemed to wake every single inch of his body, which had been dormant the past few months. His vision went white, and his hand loosened in its own accord. He felt Kurt taking over, stroking them both a little faster, trying to get there with him. His orgasm was painted with the sounds of Kurt's harsh breathing, with the sharpness of his nails on his shoulder.

Kurt came suddenly, spilling all over Blaine's chest with a loud cry. Just the sight would have sent Blaine over the edge again if he hadn't been spent already. He watched as Kurt's pleasure hit him, wave after wave, until he was soft and plaint against him.

"Okay?" Blaine asked in a low voice, hoping not to break the spell. His fingers buried in Kurt's thick, wonderful hair, making him purr like a happy cat.

"No, not okay," Kurt said. Blaine startled, his bliss starting to fade. But then Kurt smiled and leaned closer for one more kiss. "Perfect."

The storm was relentless outside, but neither of them seemed to care.

* * *

As usual, Santana was one of the last people to leave the office that day. Brittany had come pick her up and they were going to have dinner at their favorite restaurant, relax, pretend there wasn't a murderer on the loose, and live like a normal couple, for a change.

Santana was so happy to see Brittany waiting outside on the sidewalk, always radiant, with her hair in curls and a beautiful blue dress. How had she gotten so lucky?

They kissed in greeting, and Santana didn't want to let go. What if they just spent the next few hours standing in the middle of a New York sidewalk kissing? She would be perfectly happy with that.

Brittany laughed against her lips. "We're going to lose our reservation!"

Santana sighed, and reached into her pocket for her phone to check the time and reassure her wife that they still had plenty of time to get there. "We're fine. And we could always order take out and make out on the couch instead…"

"We do that all the time. I want to go to Gino's and eat all the breadsticks with that delicious dipping sauce that…" Brittany paused as Santana started frantically checking every pocket in her purse. "What's wrong?"

"Ugh, I think I left my phone upstairs," Santana said.

"Can't you just leave it there until the morning?" Brittany asked, a little hopefully. Santana was rarely without her phone. It was like a marriage with three spouses, and one of them was electronic.

"You know I can't do that, honey," Santana said sadly. She was aware of how much she depended on the damn device, and how it upset Brittany sometimes. "What if Blaine calls?"

"Fine. Go get it, I'll wait here," Brittany gave her one more kiss and pushed her back towards the doors.

"Don't you want to come with me?"

"If I go with you, you'll find some file or whatever to be distracted with. This way, you'll have to come back out right away. You wouldn't leave your pregnant wife waiting alone in the streets for long, right?"

Santana chuckled. "You know me well. I'll be right back."

The elevator wasn't as slow at this time as it was in the middle of the day with hundreds of agents coming and going. Santana enjoyed a moment of solitude and calm, and thought about her wife, and how lucky she had been to find her.

It didn't last long. She knew something was wrong just as soon as the elevator doors opened on her floor.

She didn't know what it was. But she could feel the tension growing in her, that sensation of wrongness taking over. She put her hand on the gun at her side, unclipping the holster to get better access.

As she moved farther into the bureau, she realized there was someone else there. And it shocked her to realize they were in her office.

Santana approached very slowly, making sure to walk from an angle where they couldn't see her coming. Just as she was about to burst through the door, she heard someone talking, and to her very horror, discovered that she recognized that voice.

"Look, I've already told you. I just know it's in Maryland, okay? I heard it in passing a few times, I don't have the address. Yeah, it should be around that area but I don't… yes, yes, I'm looking, but there's nothing here…"

Santana walked into her office with her gun held firmly in her hand, and pointing at the man currently searching through the files on her desk. "Is there anything I can help you with, Agent Hart?"

Hart startled and dropped his cellphone. He paled: clearly he hadn't believed he would get caught. "Santana, I…"

"I assume there's a good reason why you are in my office when no one else is in the bureau," Santana said, her voice firm and her eyes fixed on him. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she didn't like it one bit. "Who were you talking to?"

"No one," Agent Hart said too quickly. He shook his head. "I mean… agent Castro. We were talking about the case."

"Pick up your phone, and give it to me," Santana murmured, her eyebrow raised in a challenge. "Let's talk to Castro, then."

Agent Hart hesitated for a moment, then moved as if to pick up the phone, but instead stepped on it hard enough to break it. Santana bared her teeth and made sure the grip on her gun was strong enough in case a confrontation occurred.

"Who were you talking to, Bill?" She repeated. "If you make me ask you again, I'll put a bullet in your leg and go call the Captain."

Hart reached for his own gun and pointed it at Santana, but even though he was fast, she was faster. She knocked the gun out of his hand and kicked it under the desk, out of reach.

"Now you're pissing me off _and_ making me lose my dinner reservation with my wife," Santana snarled. "You'd better talk or I'll put so many holes in you, I'll use you to strain my pasta."

Agent Hart knew her well. They had been in Blaine's team together since the beginning. He knew how fierce, how unstoppable Santana was. She wasn't someone anyone could mess up with. And by how worried he looked, he seemed to realize he had no way out now.

" _Who were you talking to_?" She asked, as her finger slipped to the trigger.

"My brother!" Agent Hart exclaimed, recoiling towards the wall. "I was talking to my brother."

"Your brother?" Santana was so surprised she almost forgot to keep the gun up. "Who is your brother and why were you talking about Maryland?"

"He wants the address to Blaine's ranch," Hart said, and every fiber in Santana's body grew cold.

"Why would he want that?" Santana knew the answer, but she didn't want it to be true.

"Because he's after Hummel. He…"

"He is the killer," Santana murmured. "Your brother is the killer."

Agent Hart swallowed with difficulty. "Yes."

"That's how he always escaped, how he left no trails. You were helping him, weren't you?" Santana was so mad she could have shoot him right there. How had they been so stupid?

"Please, I know you won't understand, but… he's sick. I never meant for so many people to get hurt. I was just trying to protect him," Agent Hart held his hands up as if pleading with her, and Santana used the opportunity to get a pair of handcuffs from her desk and swiftly put them on him.

"By letting him kill all those women? By allowing him to escape from the FBI, to still be out there hurting even more people?" Santana said angrily. She pushed him onto her desk chair. "You filthy piece of shit. You never checked that security footage, didn't you? You didn't have to. You were the one who went through Sam's stuff."

"I'm not proud of what I did," Agent Hart said. "I really do love being a FBI agent. But I love my brother more…"

Santana began to pace around the office. She was so mad she was scared she would actually shoot him in the face and get this over with. But there were so many things she still needed to understand…

"Why do you say he's sick?" She asked.

"Because he is. He was diagnosed with psychosis and schizophrenia when he was a kid. My mother didn't know how to deal with it, so she wasn't around a lot, and it was just him and me. I did my best, but I was also a kid, I didn't know how to… I just love him. He's my brother." There were tears in Hart's eyes, but Santana wasn't moved. No matter how tragic his story was, nothing justified what the killer had done. "He was in love with a girl in his class when he was fifteen. She had blue eyes and brown hair. There was nothing else he would talk about. His world revolved around her. And then he asked her out and she made fun of him in front of the entire school. He… he didn't recover from that. He sees that girl in every woman with blue eyes and brown hair. I've tried stopping him, but…"

"The heart is not a random drawing," Santana said suddenly, as the pieces fell into place. "It's a signature. It's a word play with your last name. Heart, Hart. The cocky son of a bitch…"

"I told him to stop doing that. I told him to stop everything, but… he just couldn't control himself…"

There was a sound from outside the office, and Santana turned around just in time to see Brittany walking in.

"San, I knew you'd get distracted…" She looked around the office and paused. "What's going on?"

"Britt, do me a favor and call Captain Jones," Santana said, her eyes fixed on Hart. "Tell her to come right away."

"But…" Brittany looked at Hart with her eyes open wide. "What… Bill…"

"Please, honey, just do as I say," Santana said, her voice a lot softer. It hardened as she talked to Hart once again. "Where is your brother now?"

Hart looked even more nervous. "He's… you won't be able to stop him."

"Just tell me where the hell he is," Santana said, exasperated.

"He's in Maryland," Hart replied. "He's going after Hummel. And Blaine."

For the first time in her life, Santana was suddenly paralyzed with the most absolute, crippling fear.


	13. Chapter 13

The conversation cut off abruptly. Victor Hart looked down at his cellphone. The call was still connected, but he couldn't hear his brother anymore. He hoped he hadn't got caught - it would be extremely boring if he did. But even if his brother was out of luck, he wasn't. By the time the FBI finished interrogating him, Victor hoped to be done with what he had come so far to do.

Hummel had to be near. He could almost smell his fear.

It was incredibly inconvenient not to have an actual address. He had stopped in an old bar to shelter from the rain and talk to his brother. Victor was now sitting in a corner, sipping a beer and glancing disinterestedly at the soccer game on TV. A few patrons had gathered at the counter to watch and discuss it, but he couldn't care less. Team sports had never attracted him. After all, there wasn't anything as thrilling as hunting…

He weighed his options. Maybe he could try contacting his brother again later, or he could start asking questions around town. That could rise suspicion among the neighbors, but it was worth the shot. He hadn't come all the way to this God-forsaken town to leave empty-handed. It didn't matter how hard it was, he would find Hummel.

The door of the bar opened, letting in the rambunctious sound of the storm. An old man walked in, half-soaked, and wiped his feet on the dirty mat before heading towards the counter.

"Manuel!" The bartender exclaimed, smiling. "Braving the storm?"

"Just trying to get home after visiting my son," the old man replied, taking a seat at the bar. "It looks like I'll have to wait it out, though."

"What's new in the old Anderson ranch?" The bartender asked, making Victor sit up straight.

"Not much. Though Blaine is home for a visit with his fiancé. Lovely man, that Kurt," Manuel said, smiling fondly. "Haven't seen Blaine that happy in a long time. Se lo merece."

"Tell Blaine to come have a beer with us before he goes back to New York, will ya?" The bartender said, and Manuel nodded, as his eyes drifted towards the soccer game. "Can I get you anything?"

As Manuel ordered some food, Victor looked down at his drink and smiled wickedly. Oh, he definitely wasn't out of luck yet.

* * *

After a much needed shower in which they had stayed a little too long under the hot water spray, Kurt and Blaine had found their way into bed. With their bodies sated and their hearts contented, they lay together, Kurt with his head on Blaine's chest, listening to the reassuring beating of his heart mixed with the unrelenting storm outside.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so peaceful.

Blaine was playing with his hair, like he couldn't stop touching him even in the lightest way. Kurt felt intoxicated with the scent of his skin, the softness of his touch, the rhythm of his breathing. Everything about this moment was perfect, and he wished he could make it last forever.

When he had first met Blaine, he would have never imagined that under that serious exterior, he could find such a sweet man. Sure, Blaine was definitely a sexy beast when the occasion granted it, but right now…

If this wasn't love, then Kurt had no idea what it was.

Blaine suddenly snorted, bringing Kurt out of his reverie.

Kurt looked up and found Blaine smirking at the ceiling. "What?"

"Nothing," Blaine said, and when Kurt nudged him, he sighed. "I was just trying to imagine what Santana would say if she could see me now."

"Well, I'm kind of glad she can't see us, because there are parts of me on display I have absolutely no intention of showing her," Kurt muttered. One of Blaine's hands slowly moved down to cup his bare ass. "Yes, that's one of those parts, thanks for helping me illustrate my point."

"My pleasure," Blaine said, giving it a firm squeeze before letting go.

Kurt laughed, and then looked at him again, sobering slightly. "Are you worried you're going to get in trouble for this?"

"It's not the most professional thing I have ever done, but I was actually thinking about how unbearably smug she's going to be. She has like a sixth sense when it comes to sex. She'll know before I even walk into the room," Blaine explained, and since he sounded amused, Kurt decided not to worry too much. "She's tried to set me up with guys a few times in the past. Let me tell you, the guys she knows are certainly terrifying."

Kurt could believe that without even needing examples. He imagined Santana meant well, but she was definitely abrasive. He wondered what her wife was like. And that made him think about something else he didn't know…

Blaine was watching him quietly. He nudged him with a shoulder. "Hey. You're thinking about my fiancé, aren't you?"

Kurt bit his lip. "How did you know?"

"I guess it's a little surprising you haven't asked questions about him yet," Blaine admitted.

"I was just scared I would overstep or… I don't know. I didn't want to upset you," Kurt answered, though it was something that truly intrigued him.

"We're not together anymore, if that's what bothers you, although I think I mentioned that before. We're definitely not cheating on him or doing anything we shouldn't be doing. We broke up months ago."

Kurt was a little embarrassed at how relieved he felt. "Oh, I see." He waited a second. "Can I ask you what happened?"

"Kurt," Blaine leaned on his elbow and looked down at him with the sweetest smile on his face. "Please don't be afraid to want to know things about me. I think that after what we just did, you're more than allowed to ask whatever you want."

Kurt really hoped his cheeks weren't reddening. He hated blushing. "Okay, then. What happened between you guys?"

Blaine got comfortable against the pillows and tugged him a little closer. "After what happened with my dad and Coop… I guess I just wasn't the best fiancé. I did love him, I wouldn't have proposed if I hadn't loved him. But… I think that love sort of faded away. I was numb. I was spent, and tired, and confused, and angry… I started pulling away. It's not like I wanted to do it, it wasn't something I chose to do. But it felt like nothing truly mattered anymore. It wasn't Liam's fault, he deserved better. He tried to be there for me, but I kept pushing him away. I didn't really give him much option and in the end he got sick of me rejecting him, and broke things off."

Kurt frowned. "I'm sorry, Blaine."

"Don't be. I mean, I was surprised when he did it? I don't know what I was expecting, the poor guy had a right to break up with me after I pretty much ignored him for three months. But then I realized… you know, I did love him. It was real between us. But if when things go wrong, you don't feel like leaning on that person, letting them comfort you, is it really the kind of love that makes you want to be with someone forever?" Blaine kept his eyes up on the ceiling, his fingers idly tracing patterns on Kurt's shoulder. "I don't know. I think I loved him, and he loved me, but we weren't meant to be. It was love, but it wasn't strong enough."

Kurt dropped a kiss on the center of Blaine's chest. "I'm sorry. You must have felt so lonely…"

"Yeah, but it was a little bit my fault," Blaine gave him a little sad smile. "I just need to learn to let people in."

"Maybe when you feel the kind of love that lasts forever you won't even have to learn…" Kurt murmured, biting his lip as he realized what that sounded like.

Blaine just pressed him a little closer and kissed the top of his head. "Maybe you're right…"

Kurt felt his heart picking up pace. Oh, the possibilities. What if he was that love that allowed Blaine to stop pushing people away? What if he could dedicate the rest of his life to making sure Blaine never had to go through anything else by himself?

It was too soon to be thinking like this. He needed to stop. No matter how good the last few hours had been, he still didn't know how serious Blaine was about them. It could only be a way to pass the time until they were allowed to go home. It could be more. It could be everything. But right now, Kurt didn't know that.

Instead of worrying, he shifted until he was on top of Blaine. Blaine's breathing stuttered as their bodies rubbed together with the movement. Kurt smirked at him sensually.

"Since you said I can ask you all the questions I want…" Kurt murmured, leaning closer so his lips were almost pressed against Blaine's. "I have something to ask you."

"Yes?" Blaine whispered, his pupils growing dark as he looked at him.

"Would you mind too terribly if I went down on you right now?" Kurt asked innocently.

Blaine groaned, bucking his hips up unintentionally. "God, Kurt."

Kurt arched an eyebrow at him. "Does that mean you want me to or…?"

"Yes," Blaine moaned, feeling himself growing hard just from the anticipation. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…"

He was still saying yes as Kurt slid down his body and positioned himself comfortably between Blaine's spread legs. He was still saying yes when Kurt wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. He kept saying yes until he was absolutely unable to utter another coherent word, consumed by the fire that Kurt kept igniting inside of him.

He had never known burning would feel so good.

* * *

Captain Jones was positively livid as she heard what Agent Hart said. She couldn't believe someone in her own department had betrayed them so horribly. She leaned over the table and stared down at Bill Hart until he recoiled in fear.

"I hope you know your career is definitely over. You won't step into the federal bureau of investigation again, unless it's in handcuffs like the criminal and traitor you are. You and your brother are going to rot in jail, and if your brother hurts Agent Anderson or Mr. Hummel in any way, I will make sure you pay for it for the rest of your miserable life. Is that clear?"

Santana arched an eyebrow in admiration as Hart simply nodded in defeat. She decided Hart was now in good hands, so she exited the office with her cellphone in hand, ready to contact Blaine and warn him.

She called once, twice, a million times. Every time she dialed, she got more and more nervous. The phone was out of service. She didn't know what was going on, but she didn't like it one bit. In the end, she threw her phone away and stalked back into the office. Blaine had to know what was going on, and he needed to know right now.

Captain Jones looked away from Hart as she came back. She must have seen the look of absolute despair in Santana's eyes, so she said: "Agent Lopez, what is it?"

"Captain Jones, I need a helicopter, and I need it _now_."

* * *

When Kurt woke up, it was at least midnight. The power hadn't come back yet, and the house was plunged in darkness. But to be honest, he wasn't worried in the slightest. He didn't care if the power didn't come back at all, or if it rained for weeks non-stop.

He couldn't care, not when Blaine was sleeping right next to him, a thin sheet covering him from the waist down, his breathing paused and calm, like there suddenly wasn't anything at all to be concerned about. They had somehow managed to create their own little bubble of perfection, and Kurt wouldn't have minded staying there for the rest of his life.

He looked at Blaine's face. This had to be the very first time Kurt saw him truly rest, his features relaxed as he slept deeply, without a care in the world. It was nice to see him let his guard down for a bit - Kurt knew how rough life had been to Blaine. If someone deserved a little peace, it was him.

As he watched him, doing his best not to feel like a creep, he realized there was a reason he had woken up. The storm seemed to have slow down to a drizzle, and he could now hear the dog barking insistently. Poor thing, had they left her outside in this weather?

With one last fond look towards Blaine, he disentangled himself from him and searched for some clothes in the dark. They had carried their pants and t-shirts from the kitchen and left them on a heap on the floor. Kurt assumed they were still wet, but he still grabbed for his shirt. He had every intention in the world of getting naked again as soon as Ramona was inside.

He put the shirt on and only then realized it wasn't his own: it was Blaine's FBI t-shirt. He bit his lip. He had always found it so erotic to share clothes with a lover… it was intimacy beyond intimacy. And it was probably something he shouldn't have done until he and Blaine discussed things a little further, but at the moment… he couldn't care enough. He liked the softness of this shirt against his skin, its beautiful and now familiar scent. He kept it on.

After slipping into his yoga pants, he walked out of the bedroom, careful not to make any noise. In the darkness, it surprised him how easily he could navigate the house, how used to it he was, how he had got to know every corner. He wasn't trapped anymore. This was not his prison - this had now started feeling a lot like a new home.

He opened the door. It was chilly outside and he shivered. Ramona was still barking, standing alone in the gallery and hiding behind the banister. Kurt walked towards her, leaned down and pet her.

"What's up, sweet girl?" He asked her in a stupid little voice he was not proud of. "Want to come inside with us?"

But Ramona seemed on edge, like something was bothering her. She began to whine. Kurt had no idea what was going on. He had never had a dog in his life, so he wasn't sure if she was trying to communicate something or if she was just making noise for the sake of making noise.

And then he saw the truck.

It was Manuel's truck, parked right before the gate to the ranch. The headlights were on, the gate slightly opened, but he wasn't driving inside. He was just parked there. Wasn't that weird?

"Manuel?" Kurt called, trying to see better through the insistent fall of the rain. "Manuel?"

It didn't look like there had been any kind of accident, but Kurt was still worried. He walked down the steps, out of the gallery and the shelter it provided, and headed for the truck, hoping Manuel was okay…

He didn't even make it halfway there before there was a hand on his arm, stopping him.

Kurt didn't need to turn around to know it was not Blaine. He had grown accustomed to his touch, knew exactly how it felt to have his hands on him. And the way his blood had suddenly ran cold told him it wasn't Manuel either.

He turned around abruptly, and was met by the sight of those slimy green eyes that kept filling his nightmares. His pale thin lips stretched into a smile, a very triumphant smile.

The killer had found him.

He tried tugging his arm away from his grip, but the man was so deceptively strong. Kurt began pushing him away with all the strength he had, because this was not how things were going to end. After the FBI's efforts - Blaine's efforts - to protect him…

That's when Kurt saw it. It glowed silver in the night, and Kurt recognized it. He would never forget this knife for the rest of his life, the way it had looked soaked in blood that very first night, when this nightmare had started.

He began to fight harder as his desperation grew right alongside the panic threatening to choke him. He kicked at him, pushed and pulled, but nothing got rid of that disgusting gleam of absolute excitement in the killer's eyes.

This was all a game to him. It was Kurt's life, and it was just a _game_.

"Blaine!" He screamed. "Blaine!"

The killer made a sudden move, taking advantage of the slippery ground to push him. Kurt fell on his side and tried to stand as quickly as he hit the muddy grass, but the killer was faster and already there, pressing on him until he was face down. Kurt fought like a wild animal, but no matter what he did, it wasn't enough. He felt the killer getting on top of him, his heavy weight pushing him down, keeping him trapped.

Kurt's chest seemed to constrict, as the panic took over. He was going to die here.

"Hi pretty boy," the bastard spoke right into his ear, so close that it made Kurt nauseous. "I've searched for you everywhere."

"Let me go," Kurt managed to say. "Please, please, let me go…"

"I like it when you beg," the killer pressed closer, his breath hot against Kurt's skin. And then Kurt felt the sharp contact of the knife against his ribs. "You can beg and scream all you want, but you probably should stay quiet if you don't want me to hurt you…"

Kurt knew he was as good as dead, regardless of what he did. And he wasn't going to just lay there and let this bastard do whatever he wanted with him. "Blaine!" He screamed again, so hard it made his throat hurt. "Bla…!"

The killer's free hand was suddenly on his hair, forcing his face down into a large puddle next to him. "Stop calling for him! He's not going to help you!"

Kurt couldn't breathe. He spluttered, trying to push his head back and out of the dirty water so he could get some air, but it was useless. It was all useless…

There was a beastly growl and suddenly the pressure was off Kurt's back. He rolled away from the puddle and grabbed a mouthful of air, coughing and spitting. He looked aside and discovered Ramona, her teeth sunk into the killer's leg. Kurt used the opportunity to stand up, and looked around for something that could help him: a stick, a branch, a large stone…

But the killer kicked the dog off, looking angrier. Kurt didn't even have time to see if Ramona was fine before the man was right before him again, the knife pressed against his stomach.

"No more games," he murmured. "You're all mine, and I'm going to do whatever I want with you. You won't be able to stop me. I'm going to cut you up in little pieces and enjoy every second of it… but before you're even dead, I'm going to play with you…"

Kurt's stomach churned. He knew exactly what he meant. He knew exactly what he did to his victims…

"Let's start, what do you say?" The killer said, his lips pressed against Kurt's cold cheek.

"Drop that knife and step the fuck away from him, _now_."

Both Kurt and the killer looked around and found Blaine standing there, his gun raised steady and pointed at his target. Kurt whimpered in relief.

"Agent Anderson, how nice of you to join us…" The killer said with a smile. "We meet at last."

"Let him go," Blaine said, his eyes dark and his jaw tensed. "You have three seconds to let him go and put that knife down before I shoot."

"Do you hear that, pretty boy?" The killer murmured in his ear. "Look at your knight in shining armor…"

"Three…" Blaine began.

"Oh, he looks angry."

"Two…"

The killer bit the lobe of Kurt's ear, making him feel sick. "I'm going to enjoy killing you _both_." And with that, he pushed Kurt hard, until he fell against Blaine, who lowered his gun to catch him.

That was Blaine's mistake.

The killer didn't wait. Before Blaine was even done reaching for Kurt, he attacked, launching himself at Blaine and making him let go of Kurt. To Blaine's dismay, the gun slipped from his fingers, falling on the wet ground, just as the killer collided with him.

But Blaine was furious enough to be able to tear this motherfucker apart with his bare hands. He closed his hands in tight fists and went straight for his face. The killer was swifter than he looked and easily avoided the hit.

"Is that all you got?" The killer taunted him. "You just ran and hid from me all the way here, and thought I wouldn't find you? Agent Anderson, I'm appalled."

Blaine was a good fighter. He had been top of his class in Quantico and knew very well how to move around when there wasn't any weapons available. He could be his own weapon. But there was something about this situation, about knowing Kurt was in danger, and that this man would stop at nothing to ruin their lives… it just unsettled him. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't land a proper punch.

He threw himself at the killer, hoping to destabilize him and take him by surprise, knock him to the ground and just smash his face in with his fists. But the killer seemed to have been expecting that, and simply received the attack as if he was accepting a hug instead, throwing his arm around Blaine and holding him against him.

"You can't stop me," he whispered, and then drove the knife home.

Blaine gasped and his eyes grew wide. He looked down. The knife handle was protruding from his shoulder, and there was blood already spreading over his shirt. He didn't feel pain: he was just stunned. His body seemed to have shut down, and he fell down on his knees, still staring down at the knife, unable to stop the panic that spread just as quickly as his blood.

The killer leaned towards him, a big smile on his face. "Wait, Agent Anderson. Don't die yet. You have to see what I do with him first…"

A single tear made its way down Blaine's face. He had failed. All that training, all that hard work, and for what? He was never able to protect the people he loved when it counted. First his dad and Cooper, and now Kurt…

There was a loud bang. The killer's smile was frozen on his face. He looked down and now found blood spreading through his own clothes. Their eyes met, slimy green and warm gold, before they both turned their faces to look at Kurt, who was standing there shaking, with the gun in his hands.

"You got me, pretty boy," the killer murmured amused, and then promptly collapsed on the ground.

Kurt didn't wait to see what happened. He dropped the gun and raced towards Blaine, landing on his knees next to him, just as Blaine's body gave in. He fell into Kurt's arms and looked up at his face, like it was the beacon of light guiding him home. There was blood pouring freely from his shoulder, and Kurt was desperate. Was he supposed to remove the knife? Would that make it worse?

A small smile grew on Blaine's lips as he looked at him. "Kurt…"

"D-don't say anything," Kurt murmured. His whole body was shaking. "Save your strength. We have to get to the car. I have to drive you to a hospital, I have to…"

"It's okay," Blaine whispered. "Just… Kurt…"

Kurt was crying. He didn't know what to do. "Yes, sweetie?"

"I-I… I'm in… I…" Blaine gasped, the pain coursing through him like venom. "Kurt…"

Kurt felt him get loose in his arms as he fell unconscious. His eyes dropped shut, his hands going limp next to him. "No. Blaine! No, no, no…" Kurt pressed his forehead to Blaine's and rocked him slowly, like cradling a baby. "Don't. Please don't do this…"

As Kurt felt a new kind of darkness enveloping him, he thought he heard something. The dog was barking again, this time at the sky, and he looked up just in time to see a helicopter getting closer. He knew what it meant with just one glance, but he didn't care.

He looked down at Blaine again, held him tightly against him, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

They were too late.


	14. Chapter 14

At this point, Finn should have been used to being awaken in the middle of the night. At least Rachel was a lot gentler about it than Santana had been.

"Finn? Finn, wake up," she murmured sweetly, shaking his shoulder.

He hoped he wasn't drooling. He tried to look sleepy-rumpled sexy, but he wasn't sure he accomplished it. "What? What's up?"

Rachel took a deep breath, like she needed strength to reply. In the pause, Finn lost all traces of sleep as worry took over. He looked at her properly: she was already dressed up, and her face was a mask of serious concern.

"Rachel, what happened?" He asked, unconsciously reaching for her hand.

She squeezed his hand like her life depended on it. "Santana called. We have to go to the hospital."

"The hospital? Why?" Finn was already out of bed and reaching for a pair of jeans.

"The killer went to Maryland. He attacked them… there was no way of warning them…" She sat on the edge of his bed as he searched in his closet for a clean shirt. She looked pale.

Finn went to her, got on his knees and took her hand in his once again. He was so scared he didn't even want to ask the question. "Is my brother…?"

"Kurt is fine," Rachel replied immediately, trying to sound reassuring and positive. "He's fine, Finn, nothing happened to him. I imagine he's just a little shaken up…"

"Then why…?" Finn began to say, and Rachel cut him off abruptly, a sob threatening to spill right alongside her words.

"It's Blaine. He… they're bringing him to the hospital. They don't know if he's going to make it."

Finn only allowed himself a second of relief to thank God, the universe, angels and whatever force had kept his brother safe. And then he wrapped Rachel in his arms and became concerned about Agent Anderson. He had promised to protect his brother, and he had seen that promise through. Finn owed him more than he could ever repay him.

They pulled away, looked into each other's eyes, and were grateful that they didn't have to be alone right now.

"Let's go," Finn said.

Rachel nodded, and followed him out the room.

* * *

There was no other way to describe how Kurt was feeling but numb. It was as if he was floating in a cloud, completely oblivious to everything that was happening around him. All he knew was that he was sitting in a pretty loud waiting room in a New York hospital and that somewhere in that same building, Blaine was fighting for his life.

All he knew was that one second he was holding Blaine in his arms, watching the blood spread through his shirt, and the next he was being forced to let him go as Santana arrived with a full team. And now, somehow, he was finally back in New York City, the place he had wished so many times he hadn't had to leave… and he would have given anything to just be back in Maryland, back in that comfortable bed with Blaine pressed against him - safe, breathing and warm.

He closed his eyes, trying to find some calm, but he had to open them back again instantly. All he could see, like a painting against his eyelids, was the gun in his hand, his finger pulling on the trigger, and the bullet perforating the killer's back.

He had killed a man.

How did a person ever come back from that?

Kurt was about to let himself sink into the deepest despair when he heard someone calling his name.

"Kurt? Kurt!" He looked up and saw Finn running towards him. The sight of his brother was enough to make his body function again, so he stood up and opened his arms to receive the huge hug Finn was already giving him.

He buried his face in the crook of his brother's shoulder and held on as tightly as he could. Maybe if he stood there, everything else would just go away…

"Kurt, oh god," Finn sounded choked, like he was doing his best not to cry. "How are you? What happened? Are you hurt?"

The questions were too much. Kurt didn't have any appropriate answers. Was he supposed to say he was okay when he really, really wasn't? Was he supposed to put up a façade with his brother when what he had done would most likely change him completely? Was he supposed to say things were fine when Manuel had also been brought into the hospital after being found unconscious in his car? Was he supposed to say he was unhurt when Blaine was still in danger and that hurt him more than any other thing that could have happened tonight?

Instead of answering, Kurt finally let go and sobbed into his brother's shoulder, and Finn held him helplessly, wishing he could say something that would comfort him, but endlessly happy that Kurt had come back to him at last.

* * *

Kurt's sense of time was slightly warped. He didn't know how long he and Finn sat there in silence. He could feel the questions brewing inside his brother, but he couldn't bring himself to give any explanations.

"There's only one thing I need to know, and then I promise I'll shut up and wait until you're ready," Finn murmured when he obviously couldn't take it any longer. Kurt turned his head and faced his brother, his eyes devoid of any kind of emotion. "Is any of the blood on your shirt yours? Are you hurt?"

Kurt glanced down at himself. He had forgotten he was still wearing Blaine's FBI shirt. There was a large dark red stain in it. It made his stomach twist, making him nauseous. "No. It's Blaine's."

Finn didn't say anything. He simply removed his jacket and placed it on Kurt's shoulders, shielding him from the sight of the dried blood, and then grabbed his hand, squeezing it between his own.

Santana and Rachel appeared at the end of the hallway, walking towards the waiting room with their heads bent together, talking. Kurt instantly stood up and made his way to them, intercepting them. Both agents stopped in their tracks.

"Mr. Hummel…" Santana began saying, but Kurt couldn't even wait to hear what she had to say.

"How's Blaine? When can I see him?" He asked.

There was a quick shift in Santana's eyes, a sliver of curiosity that was soon gone, replaced by the same concern that had been there before. "He's in surgery right now. He lost a lot of blood. That's all we know for now. I guess we'll have to wait."

Kurt took a deep breath. He felt Finn standing next to him, a comforting hand on his arm. He was so grateful for his brother. "What about Manuel?"

"Mr. Fernandez is going to be just fine. He's not showing any signs of concussion and he wasn't badly hurt," Rachel explained kindly. "We've called his son, and he's coming for him to take him back home to Maryland."

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment. It was good news. At least one positive thing among this madness. "Can I see him, please? I want to talk to him, make sure he's alright."

"Sure," Santana said, and gestured for him to follow her. "I'll show you to his room."

Kurt looked back over his shoulder to tell Finn he would be right back, but found that his brother had stepped closer to Agent Berry and they were talking in a low voice. There was something so intimate about them, and Kurt realized there were a lot more stories to tell than his own.

Santana allowed him some privacy when they reached Manuel's room. The old man was awake and staring at the ceiling, a frown on his face. There was a large bandage on his head, but he actually looked good. Kurt felt a wave of relief washing over him as he moved closer to the bed.

"Señor Kurt!" Manuel exclaimed, sitting up. "I'm so happy to see you are okay."

"I can say the same thing about you," Kurt said, smiling a little at him as he took a seat on the chair by the bed. "How are you feeling, Manuel?"

"I would be a lot better if someone told me how Blaine is," Manuel's worried eyes settled on him, searching for answers in Kurt's face.

"I'm afraid I don't know much more than you do," Kurt replied sadly. "He's in surgery and we won't know more until after that."

Suddenly, Manuel's eyes filled with tears. Kurt, alarmed, moved closer to the bed and held the old man's hand in his. "I'm so sorry, señor Kurt. It's all my fault."

"What? No, why would you think that?" Kurt asked, frowning in confusion. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"That man followed me home from the bar," Manuel said, now fully crying. It was devastating to see him like this. "I stopped there to eat something and wait out the storm. I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," Kurt squeezed his hand. "We should have warned you, Manuel. We should have told you the real reason we were at the ranch. It was wrong of us to put you in that kind of danger."

Manuel wiped his tears away. "I don't care about that. I just hope my mistake doesn't cost Blaine too much…" He shook his head. "That silly boy. He always has to be the hero."

"He really is silly," Kurt said, and now it was him who started crying. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Nuestro Blaine," Manuel whispered fondly. "He is strong. I know he will be okay. He has a very important reason to be okay, you know?"

Kurt looked at him. "What reason?"

"You," Manuel replied, making Kurt almost choke on a sob. "I hadn't seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. He may be a little slow when it comes to these things, but he figured it out in the end, I think." When Kurt seemed a little confused, Manuel chuckled and patted his hand. "That he's in love with you, of course."

Kurt was unsure whether that was supposed to make him smile or cry harder, so he just did both at the same time. "Manuel…"

"And you're just as in love with him. So when he gets out of this hospital, please do me a favor: stop wasting time," Manuel said, looking right into Kurt's eyes to make sure his message got through. "We all know how precious time is. Be with the people you love. Tell him how you feel."

Kurt swallowed with difficulty as he nodded. "I will. I'll tell him."

"Good," Manuel seemed contented with his answer and laid back down against the pillows. But then he looked alarmed again. "What happened to Ramona? Who's going to take care of the animals while I'm here?"

"Ramona was fine, just a little scared, when we left. And some agents stayed back to work at the ranch, so I'm sure the animals will be taken care of. Just rest, okay? Your son should be here soon," Kurt said, standing up and pressing a kiss to the man's forehead. "I'll come see you again later."

"I would like that very much," Manuel murmured, finally looking at ease. "Cuídese, señor Kurt. Y cuide a mi Blaine."

Kurt didn't need to know Spanish to understand what Manuel was asking of him, so before he left the room, he turned to look at him once more and said: "I promise."

* * *

When Kurt made his way back to the waiting room, he found Santana, Rachel and Finn talking. Just as he had noticed how close Finn and Agent Berry seemed before, now he noticed just how exhausted and drained Agent Lopez looked. He knew how close she and Blaine were - it couldn't be easy for her to be here now, waiting to find out if Blaine would be alright.

"… so I can drive them," Rachel was saying when Kurt joined them. "And then I'll come back here and wait with you."

"Please pick up some decent coffee on your way back," Santana said with a tired sight. "I don't think I can drink the garbage they serve here, and I drink the garbage at the FBI every day of my life."

"Sure." Rachel nodded. She turned to look at Kurt. "Mr. Hummel, if you're ready now, I'll drive you and Finn home."

Kurt took a step back, as if he suddenly needed to be physically away from her. "What? I'm not going anywhere."

"But Kurt…" Finn began saying.

"No," Kurt interrupted. "I'm not going anywhere until I get to see Blaine and know he's alright. And I won't leave until Manuel's son gets here. I won't leave him alone."

"Look, Mr. Hummel…" Santana said. She clearly didn't have any patience left to deal with his stubbornness. "I understand you're worried, but we don't know how long it'll be until Blaine is allowed visitors, and Mr. Fernandez's son won't be here for a few hours. There's plenty of time for you to go home, take a shower, rest and eat something. I'm sure you had a very long day and would like to spend some quality time with your brother…"

"But…" Kurt said, ready to fight back, but Finn placed a hand on his shoulder.

"She's right, Kurt," he murmured quietly. "No offense, but you really look like you could use a shower and a nap. And there's nothing we can do here."

"We will need you at the bureau later to answer some questions about what happened," Santana said. "I'll call you as soon as the doctor has any updates on Blaine. I promise."

Kurt didn't want to go. He was ready to protest again, but then he looked down and saw his blood-stained t-shirt… Blaine's dried blood against his skin. He felt sick just thinking about it. He was too tired, too scared to refuse, and just one look at Finn's face was enough to make him deflate in defeat. He would never say no to anything his brother asked of him. Not after what they had been through.

"Fine," he murmured. Santana nodded and turned around, ready to walk away, but Kurt put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Agent Lopez, I beg you… I need to know as soon as Blaine's out of surgery. I need to know how he is. Just… please."

Her dark eyes searched in his, as if looking for something, though he didn't know what. She must have found it, because she gave him a little tight-lipped smile and nodded again. "You have my word, Mr. Hummel."

Finn threw an arm around his shoulders to guide him away, following Rachel down the hallway and out of the hospital. But with every step Kurt took, with the distance between him and Blaine growing by the second, he couldn't help but feel he was leaving the exact place where he was supposed to be.

* * *

Kurt only pressed his hand fleetingly against Finn's arm as he passed by him and into the apartment. Finn watched him go, shoulders hunched, and understood. They had developed a communication beyond words in all the years they had been brothers, and Finn now knew exactly what Kurt needed without Kurt having to say it.

Today, however, he hated giving Kurt space, allowing him the alone time he so desperately seemed to need. Today, he wanted to crush him in a hug and never let him go.

Instead, he turned back to the door and found Rachel still standing there, looking at him anxiously.

"Well, I guess I should…" Rachel started.

"Thanks for the ride…" Finn said at the same time. They both stopped talking abruptly and glanced around, anywhere but at each other. Finn finally cleared his throat. "Thanks for everything, actually."

"Everything? I didn't do anything…" Rachel muttered, and she sounded ashamed.

"You did. You stayed with me, kept me from going insane with worry. You took care of me," Finn said, a lot more bravely than he felt. "And you kept your promise. You promised Kurt would come back to me unharmed, and he did."

"That has to do more with Blaine than with me…" Rachel shrugged, and just mentioning her friend seemed to be painful. Her worry was clear on every inch of her face.

"I will thank him as well, when he's feeling better," Finn replied, making sure to look straight into her eyes as he said it. "He'll be fine, Rachel. Just like Kurt."

She simply nodded, and they stood in silence for a few awkward seconds. Finn didn't want her to go, but he wasn't sure if he should ask her to stay. Plus Kurt was there, and Finn needed to be there for him, more than anything.

"I have to go," she sighed. Finn wondered if she was as reluctant to leave as he was of letting her go. "The office is going to be completely revolutionized after what happened, so I have a lot of work waiting for me. And I want to check on Blaine, too, so…"

"Of course," Finn smiled at her as reassuringly as he could. "Thank you again. I… I really liked spending time with you, regardless of the awful reason why you were assigned to work with me."

The corners of Rachel's mouth trembled. Her cheeks suddenly looked rosy. Was she blushing? Was she pleased?

"Take care of your brother," Rachel muttered. "And good luck, you know, for the rest of the season. I'll be rooting for you and your team."

"I thought you didn't like sports," Finn commented as she turned to leave.

Rachel looked over her shoulder and bit her lip. Her gaze was intent on Finn, but he couldn't figure out what it meant. "So did I."

Finn watched her walk into the elevator, a heavy feeling setting on his chest as he realized this was probably the last time he would ever see her.

If this had been a romantic movie, those Kurt really loved to curl up with on lazy days, Finn would have run after her, blocked the elevator doors as they started to close, and slipped inside to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her against him. He would have kissed her and told her that, despite the sheer fear for his brother's safety, the past few weeks had been the most exhilarating of his entire life.

Instead, he closed the door behind her and shut his eyes as he leaned against it. He could hear the muffled sound of the shower echoing in the empty apartment. Kurt was here, home at last, but hurt beyond the physical. There was no time to reenact any romantic movies. And why would someone as remarkable as Rachel want anything to do with someone like him, anyway?

Little did he know, Agent Rachel Berry was stepping out of the building at that same moment, and bursting into heartbroken tears.

* * *

As soon as Kurt caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, he turned towards the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach into it. He started to shake uncontrollably and had to practically drag himself towards the shower once he was done throwing up.

He removed the clothes he was wearing. Blaine's Quantico t-shirt, stained dark with blood, was thrown across the bathroom as far as possible. He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to think of it. He wanted to get away from everything that had just happened.

His legs felt too weak to stand so he sat in a corner of the shower under the scalding water and hugged his knees to his chest.

He shut his eyes so tightly they hurt. "Everything's fine. I'm safe. Everything can go back to normal now. I'm safe. Everything's fine…"

He repeated the words like a mantra, trying to convince himself that the worst was behind him. But it didn't feel like a victory. It wouldn't feel like a victory until Blaine was fine. If Blaine… if something happened to Blaine…

He didn't realize the water had gone cold until Finn was pounding on the bathroom door. How long had he been sitting there, wet, miserable and scared?

"Kurt? Kurt, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied in a strangled voice. He reached towards the faucet and cut the water spray. "I… I don't have any clothes with me. Could you get me something?"

"Yeah, I think you left a pair of pajamas here one of the last times you came over," Finn said. "I'll go get them."

Kurt heard his brother's steps retreating and then coming back. He got out of the shower, feeling as steady as a bowl of jelly, and wrapped himself in a fluffy white towel. He opened the door just a smidge, enough for Finn to pass him the pajamas.

Finn's eyes studied his face quickly. "I ordered some food, I wasn't sure if you'd eaten, so…"

"I didn't," Kurt answered, though he wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not. He couldn't remember. Right now, all he remembered was the deafening sound of the gun going off in his hands.

"Okay, then I'll see you in the living room in a minute. I think there's a marathon of one of those fashion shows you like," Finn tried to smile, and Kurt loved him for it. He was so grateful for his brother.

When Kurt made his way into the living room, he found Finn sitting on the couch in comfy sweatpants and an old t-shirt. The television was on, an old episode of Project Runway playing in the background, and the coffee table was covered with an insane amount of food.

"I didn't know what you'd be on the mood for, so I got Chinese, Thai and pizza. I also had some frozen waffles and cinnamon rolls in the fridge, so I made those, and…" Finn stopped talking, watched Kurt as he wobbled in the middle of the living room. "Hey. Come sit, Kurt."

Kurt obliged. He suddenly felt like a small child, wished he could hide under his safety blanket and ask for his parents' comfort. "Finn…"

"Kurt," Finn said, turning on the couch to face him. "Hey. I know you've been through hell. I know there's nothing I can do to make things better for you, to erase what happened… but I'm here, okay? You can talk to me about it. I will do whatever I can to make things better for you."

Kurt gave him a sad, watery smile. "Unless you can make Blaine okay and healthy, I don't think there's anything anyone can do, Finn. But thank you."

Finn nodded slowly. He looked Kurt in the eyes. "You care about him, don't you?"

Kurt didn't reply. He couldn't. There was a large knot in his throat, threatening to choke him.

Again, Finn understood without the need for words. He simply wrapped one arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him closer, trying to provide as much comfort as he could, and waited.

All they could do now was wait.


	15. Chapter 15

Santana wasn't sure how long she had been wandering the hospital halls, but she could have navigated it with her eyes closed at this point. She wasn't good with waiting: it made her restless, it made her feel useless and afraid, and Santana Lopez was not the kind of woman who was used to being afraid.

Santana Lopez was the kind of woman who made things happen, who found solutions to every problem, who wasn't reticent to get her hands dirty.

Except, in this opportunity, there really wasn't anything she could do but sit hopelessly in a waiting room. She couldn't be next to Blaine, couldn't perform the surgery, couldn't save his life.

She just had to sit, and wait, and accept whatever outcome the doctor brought her once they were done.

She hated it.

Brittany had called a million times. Santana had appreciated every second of those phone calls, her wife's voice the only thing tethering her to sanity. She wished she could just wrap her arms around Brittany, allow herself to be vulnerable the way she was when only the love of her life could see her, and find comfort in her. But Santana didn't want Brittany here, at the same time. She didn't want to put stress on her or the baby, or to make her listen to any bad news that could potentially harm her or their son. Santana knew that if anything happened to Blaine, Brittany would be completely devastated, but Santana had to be selfish, at least this once, at least for this, and give herself the space to be devastated without having to take care of anyone else. If something happened to Blaine…

"Nothing's going to happen to him," she murmured fiercely, and an old woman who was slowly walking down the hallway with a cane looked at her as if wondering if Santana was talking to her.

So Santana waited (something she hated), alone (something she also hated, no matter what other people thought).

Rachel had called from the office a few times. Things are the bureau were hectic, to say the least. Captain Jones had stopped by the hospital briefly to get an update on Blaine before joining the team for a big meeting. Santana was technically supposed to be there, as well, but not even her boss had dared to remove her from this cold, terribly-decorated waiting room.

With a sigh, she headed towards the end of the hall to get another cup of crappy coffee. She would never insult the coffee they had at the bureau ever again.

Santana caught a flash of white coming the opposite direction and she stopped in her tracks. She had seen like a million doctors since she had arrived earlier (or was it the night before, or the day before?), but no one had had any answers for her. However, she thought she recognized the woman, her dark hair held back in a strict-looking bun, and she was wearing blue scrubs under her white coat.

"Excuse me," the woman said. "I'm Doctor Mullins. Are you here for Mr. Anderson? I think I saw you with him when they brought him in."

"Yes," Santana said desperately, and suddenly her heart was lodged in her throat. "Yes, I'm Santana Lopez, his partner. We're in the FBI together. Is he okay? What happened?"

"He's just out of surgery, so we have to wait and see how he evolves now," Doctor Mullins said calmly. "He lost a lot of blood, so he will be a little weak, and we'll keep him in observation for a few days. But everything went well and we're expecting a full recovery."

Santana had never felt lighter in her life. She was grateful for the gun she carried at the waist - its weight seemed to be the only thing keeping her from floating away. Her knees felt a little wobbly, so she allowed herself to fall onto a chair nearby. She looked up at the doctor, shakily. "So he's fine?"

"As fine as someone can be after being stabbed in the chest," Doctor Mullins replied. "Like I said, we need to see how he evolves, but the surgery went well, so we're not expecting any complications."

In a moment of weakness, Santana did something no one would have ever expected from Agent Lopez.

She hugged the doctor tight.

"Thank you," she muttered, relieved. "Thank you. When can I see him?"

The doctor patter her back gently and Santana let go, quickly regaining her poise. "The nurses should be bringing him into a private room in a few minutes. Once he's settled, you can go in and see him."

"Thank you," Santana repeated, and she could have said only those two words for the rest of her life.

After exchanging a few more words, the doctor walked away, leaving Santana alone, but surrounded by strangers who didn't understand how important it was that Blaine Anderson was still a part of this world. They had no idea what they were missing out on.

So Santana fished her phone out of her pocket and called someone who did.

"Honey? It's me. He's going to be fine…"

* * *

She knew perfectly well it was a cliché, but even so, Santana couldn't help thinking that Blaine looked tiny in that hospital bed.

He was hooked up to a bunch of machines, surrounded by white sheets, white walls and white gauze on his chest. It was like a cloud had swallowed him. He was pale, and there were dark marks under his eyes.

Frankly, he looked like shit.

Santana dragged a chair next to the bed so she could sit by his side. She studied him silently for a moment, taking in all of the details. She analyzed them efficiently in her head, cataloguing all the things that didn't feel right: the little cut above his eyebrow, the purple bruise on his shoulder, the cuts on his knuckles. It wasn't the first time Blaine was injured during a case, but it was the first time Santana had thought he might not make it.

She was going to give him hell for worrying her like that.

Blaine groaned and moved his head from side to side, slowly. He was still under the effects of the anesthesia, it seemed. The nurses had told Santana that he might be groggy for a while. They had advised her to let him sleep it off.

He didn't look like he wanted to sleep it off. If anything, he looked restless.

"Blaine?" She said tentatively.

He opened his eyes and tried to focus them on her, but he seemed to be having trouble with that. "Santana?" He slurred.

"I'm here, buddy. Just sleep for a while and we can talk when you're feeling better," she said.

"Kurt," Blaine said instead. He began to move as if wanting to get out of bed, but clearly too out of it to be even remotely successful. "Kurt."

"Hey, hey, hey, easy. You can't get out of bed. According to the doctor, you'll be there for a few days," Santana replied. "So chill."

"Kurt," Blaine insisted, sounding more and more desperate.

"Kurt is fine," Santana assured him, and she saw him relax minutely. "He's with his brother. Everything's fine. It's over, Blaine."

The anesthesia was making it hard for Blaine to stay awake, but he made the effort anyway. "Kurt. Need to see him," he mumbled, and it took a couple of seconds for Santana to decipher what he had just said.

"Okay, fine," Santana said, rolling her eyes. Even completely drugged and after being stabbed, Blaine could be so damn stubborn. "I'll see what I can do."

Blaine's eyes fell shut again, and he was out like a light in a second. Santana sighed - it wasn't perfect, but things were going to be fine, eventually. It was good enough for now.

She walked out of the room slowly, making sure not to disturb Blaine, and dialed another number on her phone. The call was picked up before it rang the second time.

"Mr. Hudson? This is Agent Lopez. Could you please put your brother on the phone?"

* * *

Kurt burst through the hospital doors, his feet moving so fast they practically didn't touch the floor. Finn was having trouble keeping up with him. He was a professional athlete, how could Kurt make him sweat like this?

But Kurt had something much more important than a trophy waiting at the end of the line.

He jogged through the hallways aimlessly, looking around for something that indicated where Blaine was, or for someone who could help him. He finally spotted a nurse coming out of a room and stopped her, his voice pleading as he said: "Please, could you tell me where Blaine Anderson is?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't know. But there's a nurse station in that direction if you want to…"

Kurt wasn't listening anymore. He spotted Santana at the end of the hallway, clearly having a heated argument with a vending machine.

"You fucking thing, give me my Snickers bar!" She was saying, and punched it hard with her fist.

"Thank you," Kurt said, not really paying attention, and leaving the nurse behind to go straight towards Santana, Finn right behind him. "Agent Lopez?"

Santana turned towards him, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline as she regarded him. "Oh, Mr. Hummel. I didn't think you would make it here so quickly…"

"He dragged me out the door as soon as you hung up the phone," Finn said, chuckling, but quickly stopped talking when he realized Kurt wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"Where is he? Can I see him? What did the doctor say?" Kurt asked, his hands wringing in anxiety.

Santana studied him for a moment before she replied. "As I told you on the phone, the doctor said he will be okay, we just need to give him a little time. He's asleep - the anesthesia is kicking his butt - but I'm sure when he wakes up he'll be glad to know you were here to…"

"I want to see him," Kurt cut her off, both polite and sharp, making sure she understood he wasn't going anywhere until he could see Blaine.

Santana once again paused, like she was analyzing every single one of Kurt's words and actions. Finally, she nodded minutely. Whatever she had found seemed to have satisfied her. "Very well. He's in room 206. Just down this hall, third door."

Kurt looked at Finn briefly, who simply smiled in encouragement and waved him away, as if assuring him he would be fine waiting here with Santana. Kurt took a deep breath and stepped away from them, heading down the hall towards room 206.

The door was ajar and he saw Blaine even before he was inside. At first glance, he seemed so peaceful, like he was just resting after a long day. But once Kurt went in and walked closer to the bed, he saw the bruises, the cuts, the paleness of his skin.

The bandage that hid the place where the killer had stabbed him.

Kurt let himself fall onto the chair by the bed. For a few seconds, he just sat there and looked at Blaine, trying to understand how the hell they had ended up here, like this. Not too long ago they had been tangled and warm in a bed, smiling and sharing secrets. Now Blaine was in the hospital, and Kurt was trying to force his heart to calm down, to beat normally, to stop fearing he would lose this wonderful man he had met a few weeks ago and who had already weaved his way into Kurt's life and soul.

Blaine shifted in his sleep, and then grunted, as if the movement had been painful. Kurt straightened up in his seat and inched closer, just as Blaine blinked his eyes open sleepily.

"Kurt?" He murmured, his voice low and hoarse.

"Hey you," Kurt said, as a smile spread over his face. He wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. A lonely tear made its way down his cheek and Kurt quickly wiped it away. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't know," Blaine answered. He seemed to be having trouble staying awake, but it was clear he was fighting to achieve it anyway. "You?"

"Me? Oh, honey, don't worry about me. I'm okay," Kurt assured him. "Just glad you didn't… you…"

Kurt's voice cracked. Even thinking about what could have happened to Blaine sent pangs of unbearable pain all over him.

Blaine's hand twitched on the bed, palm up, and it took a couple of seconds for Kurt to realize he was reaching for him.

Without hesitation, Kurt slid his hand into his, feeling himself revive just from the touch of Blaine's skin. "You're the bravest man I have ever met, Blaine Anderson," he whispered, leaning closer. "And I owe you my life."

A small smile hinted its way onto Blaine's lips, just before his eyelids drooped. He was clearly too exhausted to stay awake, and though there were a million things Kurt wanted to say to him, he was just as contented sitting here as he rested, holding his hand, feeling his warmth and his pulse, and waiting for Blaine to recover.

That was all that mattered now.

* * *

Blaine slept.

Kurt stayed where he was, in that chair next to the bed, Blaine's hand cradled between his, his thumb stroking little circles into his skin, over and over and over again.

He didn't want to let go.

Nurses came and went, checking Blaine's vitals, scribbling things on clipboards, glancing curiously at Kurt as he sat there, unmoving. He had no idea how long he was there. He was too busy counting the times Blaine's chest rose as he breathed to care about time.

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind him, startling him. He looked over his shoulder and found Agent Lopez, arms crossed over her chest, gaze intent on Kurt. He noticed how she focused on the way he was holding Blaine's hand, but she didn't say anything.

"Captain Jones called. Some agents went looking for you at your brother's apartment, but when they couldn't find you there, Agent Berry suggested they tried here," she explained. "They want you at the bureau to take a statement."

Kurt sighed. "Does it have to be today? I'm tired."

"There's not much point in you sitting here, Mr. Hummel. He's going to be sleeping on and off for a while. I think it'd be better for you if you just get this over with. Blaine's not going anywhere."

Kurt almost said that he wanted to be there whenever Blaine woke up again, no matter how long he was awake for. He wanted to hear his voice and look into his eyes and begin to understand that the worst was behind them.

He suspected Santana wouldn't care much for his sentimentalism.

"Okay, fine," he said reluctantly. He hesitated for a moment, and then simply lifted Blaine's hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers. "I'll see you soon," he whispered.

Santana watched him with an arched eyebrow, but didn't comment on the gesture.

"Let's go," Kurt said, turning towards her.

"Oh, Agent Evans is waiting outside to take you," Santana replied, taking his place on the chair. "I'll stay here with Blaine."

They exchanged a quick glance. They didn't say a word, and yet they suddenly meant so much, and agreed on even more.

"Okay. Keep me updated?" He asked, and she simply nodded, all the promise he could get from her.

He left the room with one last longing look towards Blaine.

* * *

Captain Jones was a strong, strict woman who could command a room with just a look, who could intimidate her staff with her presence if the circumstance required it, and who inspired love and loyalty in every single person who worked at the bureau. She was a force to be reckoned with.

She was also incredibly gentle and understanding.

Kurt found that he was having trouble breathing. He had thought he would be okay retelling the events of the night before. He thought that now that threat was gone, now that Blaine was out of danger, he would start to feel better, go back to normal.

Apparently shooting and killing a person, no matter how awful that person was, did something to you.

Captain Jones placed a glass of water in front of him. Kurt drank it in two large gulps.

"I appreciate you coming in and talking to us," she said softly. "I know it was a very traumatic experience, and I want you to know we're here for you, if you need anything. We have amazing counselors you could talk to, if you want."

Kurt shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it again, at least not now. Deep down inside, where he was still rational despite the nervous breakdown, he knew he would probably have to talk to a professional, maybe go to therapy, at some point. But today… he couldn't deal with saying all of it, all over again. Once was enough.

"Thank you," Kurt said, because he didn't know what else to say.

Captain Jones smiled at him reassuringly. "What you're feeling now is perfectly normal, Mr. Hummel. I have agents who have been with the FBI for years, who are trained for the kind of thing you went through, and still have trouble accepting traumatic events. It's normal."

Kurt nodded. "I know."

"And you saved Agent Anderson's life," Captain Jones added warmly. "He's my best agent, and an amazing man. You did what you had to do, and I thank you for your bravery."

Kurt stared at her, disbelieving. He had been so humbled and grateful to Blaine for saving his life, that he hadn't realized he had also saved Blaine's.

In so many ways, they had saved each other.

He sniffled and nodded again. He didn't know what to say.

Captain Jones stood up and extended a hand towards him. "Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Hummel. We appreciate your cooperation throughout this case. We wouldn't have been able to put a stop to these crimes without you."

"You're welcome," Kurt said, although it didn't feel right. What he wanted to say was: _Thank you for forcing me out of New York; thank you for assigning Blaine to my case; thank you for bringing us together_.

"You can stay here, if you need a moment. Your brother is waiting outside for you," she said gently. "And if there's anything we can ever do for you, do not hesitate to let us know."

Kurt thanked her again and watched her leave the conference room. He remembered being in this same room what felt like a lifetime ago, standing by the window and looking out at the city he loved so much, wondering what would happen to him, back when his biggest worry was getting a bigger role on a Broadway show.

Life had a funny way to put things in perspective.

He could see Finn sitting outside in the hallway, waiting for him. His brother was sneaking glances around the room, as if looking for something. It had been just the two of them for so long now, and sometimes it still felt like they were lost, missing a piece, stumbling through life as a family of two.

More than ever, Kurt longed for his father's embrace, his words of wisdom, the pat on the back after a job well done, the kiss on the forehead when he was sick. Whenever he had been lost before, he had turned to his father. But his father wasn't there anymore.

Kurt felt like he was being pulled in two directions: he wanted to run back to Blaine's side, but he also needed a moment to get back on his feet, to learn to live with the events of the past few weeks.

He found his brother's eyes across the conference room's glass. He knew what he needed to do.


	16. Chapter 16

One of the things Kurt loved more about his brother was that Finn knew when not to ask any questions.

Kurt walked up to him after he left the conference room and said "I want to go to Ohio."

It only took two seconds for Finn to nod his head in agreement. "Okay. When are we leaving?"

He only asked the _right_ questions.

They went back to Finn's apartment and packed a bag. Kurt didn't have much to pack, really, since everything was back at his own apartment, and he didn't feel like going there for the time being. He decided he would buy whatever he needed at whatever store he could find in Lima. More than clothes, what he needed right now was to get out of here.

While he had been away at the ranch, somehow he had believed that all the answers he was looking for had been waiting for him right here in New York. Now he realized he was wrong: he needed to go back to his roots. He needed to put everything else behind him.

Finn had suggested looking at flights online before they left, but Kurt said he wanted to go by train. Back when he had been a struggling student with barely any money to spend on trips back home, he had always taken the train. He remembered his father standing on the platform, waiting for him with his hands in his jeans pocket, and smiling widely as soon as he saw his son.

He knew there wouldn't be anyone waiting for him on that platform this time, but it still felt like that was what Kurt needed to do.

It was a sunny day. Finn brought along a bag of unhealthy snacks and put it on the seat between them. They stretched their legs as much as they could and nibbled on chocolates and cookies as they watched the scenery change outside the window. New York was left behind, and so were Kurt's problems.

Or so he hoped, at least.

Once the city was far behind them, Kurt asked Finn to tell him all about what had happened with him while he had been away in Maryland. Finn spoke in a soft voice, about the games and the practices, about the fear of something happening to Kurt, about Rachel. And when he talked about Rachel, his voice became so reverent, so full of admiration, that Kurt realized he had not been the only one who had fallen in love despite the circumstances.

Kurt could feel Finn's curiosity coming out of him in waves. It was obvious his brother also wanted to know about everything that had happened in the ranch. But Kurt wasn't ready to talk about it, not yet at least, and Finn always respected that. Kurt wanted to tell him, but it felt like now was not the time for it. Not when the day was so beautiful and his belly was full of sugar.

It seemed surreal that after what felt like such a long nightmare, a day as bright as this could exist.

* * *

Kurt and Finn hadn't been in Ohio in a long time. They hadn't found enough reasons to go back since their parents had died. Somehow, Kurt expected to see Lima and not recognize it, to discover it had moved on without the Hummel-Hudsons. However, as he stood right in the center of town, he wondered if Lima existed in an alternative universe where nothing ever changed. The stores were the same, people's faces looked familiar even if Kurt had no idea what their names were, the neighbors' garden still had the same rosebushes they've had since Kurt was a kid.

Nothing had changed, and yet the two men who had just stepped out of a train from New York City couldn't be any more different from the two boys who had once lived there.

When Burt and Carole had died, they hadn't known what to do with the house. Should they sell it? Should they rent it? In the end, they decided to keep it. It probably wasn't the smartest decision, but today Kurt was glad for it. They opened the door and it was like falling into a rabbit hole: time disappeared, heartache didn't exist. He was still Kurt Hummel, the same boy who had laughed, dreamed and breathed in this very house.

It took a longer glance to realize just how empty it looked.

"It's been a while," Finn whispered, and Kurt knew he was noticing the same thing.

Kurt thought back to the second room at the ranch, the one Blaine had kept closed and unused. This house looked exactly like it: like it had been a perfect place to make memories, but now they were all covered in dust and sadness.

Kurt walked into the living room. Everything was just as he remembered it. He took a seat on his dad's favorite armchair and closed his eyes. The old leather still smelled like him, despite the years and the absence.

Finn watched him from the archway. "I'll go leave the bags in our rooms. Maybe we can go get something to eat afterwards? I'm starving."

Kurt nodded. He knew when Finn was trying to give him some space, and he appreciated it. "Alright. Sounds like a plan."

He heard Finn's steps as he retreated up the stairs. Then the house fell silent, as if no one was there. This had been home, still was in many ways. The place where Kurt had been happy, where he had cried, where he had sang, where he had learned what love was. The place where he had grieved.

And hopefully, this would also be the place where he would heal.

* * *

The next time Blaine woke up, he felt his head was a lot clearer. The anesthesia had finally worn off, and with that, he could also feel the pain. He groaned in discomfort and tried to sit up.

"Ah, no. Stay exactly where you are," Santana said, appearing before him. "You're not getting out of that bed."

"I think I need to pee," Blaine muttered.

"I'll get a nurse and they can help you with that. Do you want me to request a handsome male nurse?" Santana asked, winking saucily at him.

Blaine did his best to look exasperated and rolled his eyes at her. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"You look in pain," Santana replied, sobering slightly. Blaine could see how worried she truly was. "You really should stay in bed."

Sighing, Blaine desisted. He would attempt to get up when she wasn't looking. "It's not that bad. Remember when I got shot that one time? That was more painful."

"Don't remind me," Santana huffed. "You bled all over my favorite blouse."

They smiled. Teasing each other made them feel like nothing had ever gone wrong.

"So, what happened?" Blaine asked at last. "Did you guys catch the bastard?"

Santana frowned at sat on the chair by the bed. "You don't remember anything?"

"A little. Details are sort of… fuzzy," Blaine admitted.

"Well, we did catch him. But he was dead," Santana said carefully. "Hummel shot him."

"What?" Blaine moved so suddenly his chest throbbed in pain. He hissed.

"Hey, easy there," Santana put a hand on his good shoulder and pushed him back against the pillows. "If you don't behave, your doctor is going to kick me out of here. So be silent and don't move."

Blaine took a deep breath, closed his eyes. If he focused hard enough, he remembered. The sound of the shot, the killer falling off him, Kurt's teary eyes looking down at him…

"Oh, Kurt… he must have felt so…" He couldn't even figure out what Kurt must have been feeling. "I should have…"

"Do not start, Anderson. You did exactly what you had to do, and I'm so damn glad Hummel was there to help you," Santana said fiercely. "Plus, I haven't even told you the juiciest details yet."

Blaine blinked in surprise. "You mean there's more?"

"The killer was Hart's brother."

It took a few seconds for Blaine to process the information. He couldn't believe it. Suddenly all the pieces fell into place, and everything made sense. "Tell me everything."

Santana was a great storyteller, especially when she had a good role in the story. She spared no details in telling him exactly how she had discovered Hart, how she had made him confess, and then requested a helicopter to go in his and Kurt's aid. It was like something right out of a movie.

"I can't believe he would betray us like that…" He mumbled when she was done.

"No one could believe it. He was always a great agent. I still don't understand what happened," Santana admitted. She then watched Blaine quietly for a few seconds, as Blaine mulled over the information he had just received. "Are you going to tell me what happened at the ranch or will I have to keep filling the blanks myself?"

The ranch felt so far away now, as Blaine laid on a hospital bed. The brief happiness he had felt on that last day, as he and Kurt forgot completely about the rest of the world had been so rare and precious. He wasn't sure it was supposed to be shared, spoken about. It seemed fragile: it would come apart like a sand castle in the rain if he didn't take care of it.

"It's fine, I think I know without you telling me anyway," Santana shrugged, giving him a way out.

"You do?" Blaine should have been surprised, but he really wasn't. Santana knew him better than anyone.

"Well, Hummel was wearing your shirt when we found you, the first thing you asked about when you woke up from surgery was him, and he's been a pain in the ass since we got here, so…" Santana made it sound like it annoyed her, but she seemed pleased. "I think he feels the same."

Blaine sighed. "I hope he does," he admitted quietly, almost shyly. When he couldn't take Santana's intent gaze anymore, he asked: "Where is he now? Is he here?"

"No, actually," she answered. "He called me earlier today to tell me he was going to Ohio with his brother."

Blaine's chest flared with pain again, but this time it didn't have anything to do with his injury. "Oh, really?"

Santana gave him a little smile. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll be back soon. He just needed some time, you know. This was a traumatic experience for him."

Blaine cleared his throat. He didn't want to show how disappointed he was, but he knew he was failing. "It's good, that he went. He needs to put some distance between him and… and what happened. He needs to forget."

Santana's phone started ringing in her pocket, which Blaine was grateful for, because he was sure she was about to say something he didn't want to hear. She excused herself when she saw it was Brittany calling, and got up to leave the room and have some privacy.

"Hey honey! Yes, he's awake. Oh, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you!"

Blaine shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He knew it was silly of him to expect Kurt to want something with him now that it was all over: why would Kurt want a constant reminder of all the bad things that had happened to him? Blaine told himself that he needed to be glad and relieved that Kurt was alright. That was, after all, what truly mattered.

* * *

Kurt kneeled on the grass and put the bouquet of daisies down in front of his father's gravestone.

He felt bad. He hadn't come back to visit him in too long. When Carole had died, both he and Finn considered moving their parents to a cemetery in New York, but they knew it wasn't about their own comfort: it was about where their parents belonged. Burt and Carole had lived their whole lives in Ohio. It had always been home to them. It was only logical to let them stay there.

"We should come back more often," Finn whispered softly, as he arranged his own bouquet in front of his mother's grave.

"We should," Kurt said.

They sat there in silence for a while. Kurt placed his hand on the granite, and slowly traced the letters of his dad's name. It was cool to the touch.

After a couple of minutes, Finn cleared his throat and stood up. Kurt watched him walk away towards a bench. Finn always had a hard time here. It still seemed crazy to both of them that every time they wanted to visit their parents, they had to come to a cemetery. It was unthinkable that they would never hear their voices or hug them again. It had been years since they had lost them, and still Kurt and Finn couldn't get used to not having them in their lives.

"I'm glad you didn't have to worry your way through the past few weeks," Kurt murmured softly. "It would have killed you to know what I was going through. But, at the same time, I never needed you this much, Dad. I would give anything to have you back."

He thought back to his conversation with Blaine out in the porch, about how sometimes it was nice to believe in something.

"You know, if you're the one who sent Blaine to take care of me, you did a great job, Dad," Kurt chuckled as some tears spilled down his cheeks. He wiped them away. "A guardian angel with a gun."

The sound of the gunshot resounded in his head for the millionth time since he had pulled the trigger. He closed his eyes, nauseated. He had done the right thing, but the right thing came with consequences.

"I don't know if I'll ever forget what I did, if I'll accept it and move on…" Kurt said, running his fingers over the flower petals delicately. "But he saved my life and I saved his. I have to believe that sometimes doing something horrible is exactly the best thing to do."

He looked over his shoulder. Finn was still sitting on the bench, waiting for him.

"I love you, Dad."

Kurt stayed there for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to pretend he could feel his father's arms around him. But he could only feel the soft breeze that barely shook the trees' branches, and when he opened his eyes, he was still kneeling in front of a gravestone.

He heard steps behind him.

"Ready to go?" Finn asked.

Kurt traced his the letters on the gravestone one last time with careful fingers. _Burt Hummel_. "I'm ready."

They walked out of the cemetery side by side. Kurt wondered if maybe the next time he came over to visit them, Blaine would be with him.

His brother threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him a little closer as they walked. Kurt gladly accepted the comfort, and leaned closer.

"I'm really glad you're my brother, Finn," Kurt said, because he knew he didn't say it often enough.

He could see Finn's little crooked smile from the corner of his eye. "I'm really glad you're my brother, Kurt."

* * *

That night, after dinner, Finn and Kurt sat outside in the backyard, and Kurt told Finn everything about the past few weeks. He described the ranch, the animals, the boredom and the desperation, the isolation and the fear that something might happen to Finn. He told him about Manuel, about his kindness, about his life working at the ranch and raising a beautiful family. He told him about using his time away to start working on his own musical, about how he truly believed he could finish it and make it happen someday. He told him about Blaine, about his silences, his losses, his sweetness. He told him about falling in love with him so gradually, like it was so natural and logical, like there couldn't have ended any other way.

He told him he killed Victor Hart.

With shaking hands, Kurt told Finn about the sheer terror he had felt when the killer drove the knife into Blaine's chest, when he saw Blaine's blood spilling down his shirt. He recalled seeing the gun on the grass, not thinking at all, just knowing _he had to do something_. His finger was on the trigger before he even realized what he was about to do, before he could even think of how he had never even held a gun before - _what if he shot Blaine instead?_ -, and then he just did it. He shot him.

"I didn't even think of what that meant until we got to the hospital a while later and they took Blaine away from me," Kurt said. "When I finally had time to think… I just… _I killed someone_ , Finn."

"I'm glad you did," Finn murmured in a low voice. Kurt turned abruptly to look at him, not expecting that answer. "I'm sorry for what you've been through, but I'm glad you reacted that way. Kurt, this man would have killed both you and Blaine without a second hesitation. You did what you had to do, both for you and for Blaine. I understand that you will have to live with this now, for the rest of your life… but I can't tell you I'm not glad you did it, because you had the balls to do what it took to survive. And god, Kurt, I'm just happy and relieved that you're okay."

Kurt sighed. "I know. I know you're right. It was self-defense. But I still… I have nightmares. I hear the gunshot in my head. I see his blood spreading on the grass. It's not pleasant. But yeah… I… it was Blaine's life or his. It was my life or his."

They didn't say anything for a few seconds, processing. Kurt was tired, so tired. It felt like he hadn't slept in years. But he also dreaded going to bed. He didn't want to close his eyes and see it all over again.

"So what are you going to do now?" Finn asked at last.

Kurt had actually had time to think about that. "I want to find a new apartment. I don't think I can go back to my old one. Hart was there, his horrible creepy little heart must still be painted over my bed and I don't want to have to live somewhere that doesn't make me feel safe anymore."

"You can stay with me while you look for a new place," Finn immediately offered. "I have that extra room, and I think it'd be nice for you to have some company for a while, if you'd like that."

"Are you sure?" Kurt asked, although it sounded perfect.

"Sure. If you have trouble sleeping we can stay up having ice-cream and watching bad reality television," Finn shrugged, and Kurt smiled at him. "I'll help you find an apartment where you'll feel comfortable. But in the meantime… just stay with me."

"Okay, one less thing to worry about," Kurt replied. "Thanks, Finn."

"No problem, bro," Finn smiled. "What else?"

"Uhm, well… I need to go back to work," Kurt said, checking his mental to-do list. "It'll take a while to figure out what I want to do about my own musical, and I need to work in the meantime. I think I should just stay where I am for a little while, if they'll have me after missing so many days."

"I'm pretty sure Captain Jones sent someone over to the theatre to explain your situation once you and Blaine left for Maryland," Finn explained. "So that should be okay."

"Oh, that's fantastic, I didn't know," Kurt sighed in relief. He had been away for weeks, and he had no idea how much of his life was still waiting for him to return. That had been one of the most terrifying aspects of his sudden escape to Maryland: what if his own life couldn't wait for him?

Finn cleared his throat and purposefully avoided looking Kurt in the eyes. "Anything else?"

Finn wasn't subtle. He had never been subtle. Kurt knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Well, hopefully once Blaine is out of the hospital…"

"Yes! That's what I wanted to hear!" Finn exclaimed, fist-bumping the air.

"You didn't let me finish," Kurt protested, rolling his eyes.

"You're in love with him, dude. You should have told him before we came here," Finn retorted. "We'll develop some sort of dating-system-code thing once we're back in New York."

"Why? Are you expecting to date anyone any time soon?" Kurt asked. He could be just as obvious and obnoxious as his brother if he wanted to.

Finn was suddenly very interested in his own shoes. "Well, now that you mention it…"

"Agent Berry, huh?" Kurt said, and Finn gasped in shock.

"How did you know?!"

"Finn, anyone could see how much you like her. And I'm pretty sure she likes you too."

Finn seemed truly surprised that he hadn't been incredibly mysterious and enigmatic.

They stayed out there in the backyard a little while longer, lost in thought. Both had a lot to think about. It was a beautiful night to figure things out: the sky was clear, the stars sparkled beautifully, and suddenly their whole lives seemed to expand before them. There were no threats, no reasons to be afraid, nothing to escape from. They just had to move on and move forward.

At last, Finn patted his knee and stood up. "I'm going to bed. Let me know if you need anything?"

"Sure, thanks, Finn," Kurt smiled up at his brother and watched him walk into the house. Without him here, the silence seemed to grow wider.

Kurt toyed with his cellphone. It had been returned to him at the bureau. Before all of this happened, he was rarely without it, but in the ranch, it had become less and less necessary with each passing day. The only person he would have liked to call while he was there was Finn. The only person he wanted to talk to know was the last number he had called before he had to leave New York.

It was saved under Agent Anderson.

Kurt took a deep breath and made the call.

* * *

Blaine was dozing off. It had been a very long day. Santana and Brittany had stayed with him until a few minutes ago, when he had kicked them out and told them to go home. Brittany had brought a pic-nic basket, complaining that hospital food wouldn't help Blaine recover and that Santana always forgot to eat when she was under stress. He had watched them bicker all afternoon: Santana kept going on and on about how Brittany shouldn't have been carrying heavy things, and Brittany crossed her arms over her chest in irritation and reminded her wife that she was pregnant, but that she wasn't useless.

It had given Blaine a headache.

Mercedes, Sam, and some other people from the bureau had stopped by to see how he was doing. Rachel had stayed for a couple of hours, fluffing his pillow and reading magazines aloud to him, until he politely asked her to stop because he didn't care about Brad Pitt's latest relationship scandal. His mother had called, and he had to assure her over and over again that he would be okay, that she didn't need to get on a plane to see him. Doctors and nurses had come and gone all day long, and Blaine was suddenly sick of talking to people, of answering questions, of being the center of attention.

He just wanted to sleep.

He was on the verge of consciousness when his phone began to buzz insistently. With a groan, he reached for it on the bedside table. He blinked at the unknown number and considered not answering, but he was worried it was important.

"Hello?"

"Oh!" The voice on the other end exclaimed. He recognized it immediately. "Oh, my god, you were sleeping. I'm so sorry…"

"Kurt," Blaine murmured, and he was suddenly awake, so awake.

"Hi. I'm sorry to call now, it's just…" Kurt paused, and Blaine didn't say anything, just content with hearing his soft breaths on the other end. "I wanted to know how you're doing."

"I'm better, really, don't worry about me," Blaine answered. His head felt heavy with all the questions he wanted to ask him.

"Are you in any pain?" Kurt asked, sounding truly concerned.

"Only a little, but they have some amazing things here called painkillers," Blaine said, causing Kurt to chuckle softly. "How are you, Kurt? Santana filled me in on what happened. I don't remember much…"

"I feel a little weird, to be honest. I have a lot to think about, but… I think I'll be fine," Kurt explained. "I'm actually in Ohio. I… well, Finn and I came to visit our parents."

Blaine understood now. Kurt had gone home, not to get away from him, but because he was looking for the kind of comfort that he could only find there. He was not running away. "I know. Santana said you called. How's Finn?"

"He's fine, glad I'm back. It's been nice to sit down and talk to him. I really needed my brother," Kurt said, and then he took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something. "I miss you like crazy, though."

Blaine's heart skipped a beat in his chest. He was afraid his monitor would go off and alert the nurses. "I miss you, too. Do you know when you'll be back?"

"Just a couple more days. We both have a lot of things to do in New York, but we needed to escape for a little while," Kurt replied. "I'm sorry I'm not there. I should be there… I didn't think when we took off, but I…"

"Kurt, please, don't feel bad. Just promise you'll come see me the second you come back and we'll be fine," Blaine teased, secretly hoping Kurt would comply.

"Deal."

They both paused. The silent was suddenly charged with all the things they wanted to say, but that neither wanted to say over the phone. Blaine felt as if electricity was coursing through him. He wanted to get out of bed and run around the hospital to burn all the energy that unexpectedly filled him.

"Kurt?" Blaine muttered quietly.

"Yeah?" Kurt sounded breathless.

"Thank you for saving my life," he said, and his words sounded raw - he was bearing his soul for Kurt to see, and hoping Kurt would want him, no matter what.

"Thank _you_ for saving mine," Kurt replied.

God, Blaine wished Ohio wasn't so far away.

"I'll see you soon?" Blaine asked, because he needed the confirmation. He needed to know that soon he would be able to put his arms around Kurt, to feel his heart beating against his own.

"Soon," Kurt said it like a promise.

Blaine fell asleep with the sound of Kurt's breathing and his heart full of hope.


	17. Chapter 17

The day Kurt arrived back in New York, it was pouring with rain.

He and Finn hadn't even thought of grabbing an umbrella, and they both hurried from the train station, hoping to catch a cab before they were drenched. It took him a couple of minutes, but soon enough they were both in the backseat, looking out the window at the city veiled by the thunder.

It hadn't been even a week since they had left, but it was always too long without New York.

Ohio had been a welcome break, though. Kurt felt rested and a lot calmer after their little trip. Not everything was fixed - he still couldn't erase what had happened, what he had done - but he felt a little more ready to face it, now. He felt like he would be alright.

He had called the theatre the previous day, and they expected him for rehearsal later. Kurt hadn't expected them to be so incredibly understanding and kind - he was, after all, just in the ensemble, and was easily replaceable. But he was happy to know he still had a job. He was happy to know his life hadn't gone down the drain while a nightmare chased him.

The taxi stopped in front of Finn's building, who fished some money out of his pocket and handed it to the driver. He grabbed his bag and opened the door, turning back to look at Kurt when he didn't move.

There was something he really, _really_ needed to do.

"Aren't you coming?" Finn asked in confusion.

Kurt glanced at him. He pushed his own bag towards Finn so he would take it into the apartment as well. Finn's face lit up in understanding, and he winked at Kurt, before closing the car door and rushing into the building, once again trying to avoid the rain.

Kurt turned to the driver, and told him a new address. The man immediately pulled back into traffic and headed towards the hospital.

Above everything else, Kurt needed to see Blaine.

* * *

Blaine's hospital room was crowded. Between his friends fuzzing over him, the doctors and nurses coming and going, and the insane amount of balloons with get well messages that Brittany had sent him, he could barely move two steps without bumping into someone or something.

It was driving him insane.

Luckily, it was his last few hours there. He would be free to go home soon, and he honestly couldn't wait to walk out the hospital's doors without looking back.

On the other hand, Santana had clearly intimidated half the hospital staff, because they were suddenly eager to run one last round of tests on him before letting him go. He'd had x-rays and a CT-scan earlier, and now he was about to head to another session of physical therapy for his arm. He was sure he would regain full use of it in just one or two more weeks, but apparently he wasn't allowed to complain. Santana had glared at him as soon as he opened his mouth to say he was fine.

Sam and Rachel were sitting on either side of him. They were happy to be there and share news from the bureau, which Blaine appreciated because he hated being away from work. However, he wished they would both vanish as soon as the door was cracked open with a shy little knock, and Kurt peered into the room.

Blaine sat up so quickly he bumped his head into a big blue balloon.

"Kurt!" He exclaimed. He was so relieved to see him. Despite their conversation over the phone, Blaine hadn't been able to convince himself that Kurt would come back, eventually.

"Hi," he said, stepping inside, but looking around as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be there or not. "Uhm. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm so glad to see you." Blaine looked at both Sam and Rachel pointedly, but they didn't seem to catch the hint, because they remained where they were, happily and obnoxiously clueless. "Uhm. How was… how was Ohio?"

Rachel perked up at that. "Oh, Santana mentioned you and Finn went on a little trip. How is he doing?"

Kurt blinked at her for a moment. He seemed so unsure and out of place standing there in the middle of the room, like he was wondering if he made the right decision coming here. "He's fine. We both needed the time away, but… we're happy to be back," he said this last thing looking right into Blaine's eyes.

Blaine felt himself melting. They were right on the edge of something so special, and Blaine just wanted to take the damn leap.

"Please say hi to him from me," Rachel continued, twirling her hair on a finger, which she only did when she was nervous.

"I will," Kurt said. Then there was silence and he just stood there awkwardly. "Uhm. Maybe I should…"

"Please don't go," Blaine blurted out before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat as all the eyes in the room settled on him. "I'd love to talk to you if… guys, do you mind?" He said, done with being polite and subtle.

Rachel practically jumped from her chair, and Sam followed. "We'll be outside!"

Blaine waited until he heard the door clicking shut after them. He sighed in relief. "God. I love those two, but they can be so…" He noticed Kurt was still standing in the same spot, too far away for his taste. "Hey. Come here."

Kurt hesitantly made his way to the chair Rachel had vacated. "Nice balloons. Looks like a clown vomited in here."

Blaine chuckled. "They were a gift from Brittany, Santana's wife. She has a very… colorful taste."

They both looked around the room, as if focusing on the balloons could strop the growing tension between them from snapping. It wasn't a bad kind of tension, Blaine realized. It was the kind they had shared in the ranch, on a similarly rainy day.

It was the best kind of tension.

"Kurt…"

"Blaine, I…"

They both shut their mouths abruptly. Blaine grinned at him, Kurt blushing as he ducked his head.

"This is silly," Blaine commented. "We're both adults, not school boys. There's no need to be so awkward and bashful after everything that has happened."

Kurt sighed, apparently relieved. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just been… well, a few very weird days."

"I can imagine," Blaine muttered, his voice going softer. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of that, Kurt. You didn't deserve it."

"No, I didn't," Kurt agreed simply. "But it brought me to you."

Blaine's breath stuttered in his chest. God, he loved him. How had he been so stupid to want to deny this? He could have had so many more nights in Kurt's arms. Why hadn't he allowed himself to feel this freely?

 _You can still have so many nights with him_ , a voice in his head said, and it sounded suspiciously like Santana's. _You can have the rest of your nights with him, if you stop being such an idiot._

"How are you feeling?" Kurt asked, before Blaine could say something. "How's your shoulder?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Blaine assured him. "Trust me, this is not the worst injury I've got since I've joined the bureau. It was painful and ugly, but it's fine now."

Kurt nodded and then leaned closer, reaching for Blaine's hand. "I'm so happy you're okay, Blaine. For a moment there, I thought…"

He couldn't say it. Blaine saw him swallow the words like they were poison, and he intertwined their fingers together, squeezing lightly to bring Kurt some comfort.

"We're both fine," he said. "There's no need to be afraid about it now. I know it was a terrible experience, Kurt, and that you will probably have some things to think about and to figure out after this, but… I was hoping that we both got something better than just a bad experience and a closed case."

Kurt blinked at him, his big blue eyes so mesmerizing that Blaine couldn't look away from them. "Oh?" He muttered, his gaze searching for the answer on Blaine's face.

"I was hoping that… we got each other out of all of this," Blaine replied, leaning towards him. "Kurt, I…"

There was a loud knock on the door, and a nurse came in, with a bright smile on her face and carrying a clipboard. "Mr. Anderson! Time for your physical therapy!" She stopped when she realized Blaine wasn't alone. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a visitor."

Kurt squeezed his hand gently before letting go. "It's okay."

"Would you wait for me?" Blaine asked, hating the interruption. He just wanted to know that everything between them was fine. "It should take about an hour…"

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Kurt said, and he looked genuinely upset about not being able to stay. "They're expecting me at the theatre for rehearsal, and after missing so many days, I can't be late. But I can come back later? After rehearsal?"

"Oh, I'm not sure how much longer I'll be here. Apparently I get to go home today, so…"

"Only if he does well in physical therapy!" The nurse exclaimed, and she looked way too chirpy for Blaine's taste. God, he hated hospitals. "Come on, Mr. Anderson. You don't want to be late!"

Blaine was about to apologize to Kurt, but Kurt simply put a hand on his good shoulder. "It's okay," he said. "We'll figure it out, right?"

Blaine smiled softly at him. That sounded positive enough. "Right."

Kurt hesitated for only a second before he leaned in and pressed a quick little kiss to Blaine's cheek. "I'll see you soon."

The touch of Kurt's lips seemed to travel through Blaine's skin, all the way to his heart. He watched him walk out of the room, wishing he could go after him, wrap him in his arms and kiss him like he truly wanted to.

They would most certainly figure it out.

* * *

There was something incredibly nerve-wracking about walking into an office filled with armed FBI agents. Finn knew that if this wasn't welcomed, someone could _shoot_ him. Well, he was sure that it wouldn't end up that badly, but he was still nervous.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the bureau, a bouquet of pink lilies in his hand.

It was early in the morning and the office was crowded with people coming and going, working hard to close their next case. Some of the agents with desks closer to the door turned to look at him, arching eyebrows and watching him in confusion. He tried his best to ignore them, as he took a good look around the room, wondering where Rachel's desk was.

"Hudson?"

 _Oh no_. Agent Lopez was the last person he wanted to see when he was about to make a fool of himself. He gulped and tried to hide the flowers behind his back, but he knew there was no use.

"Uhm hello," he said, avoiding her eyes, because he knew she was already _mocking_ him. "I was wondering…"

"Rachel! Get your ass over here!" Santana exclaimed, before he even had the chance to explain why he was here.

Oh god, this was embarrassing. Now the whole office was looking at him. Even the captain had left her office and was watching over the second floor railing.

Rachel stepped out of the conference room, a stack of files on her hands, confused until she saw Finn standing in the middle of her workplace. Her eyes went so big they almost didn't fit in her face.

She was the most beautiful woman Finn had ever seen.

She made her way to him so slowly, that Finn could feel his own heart gaining speed with each of her steps. The anticipation was killing him. She didn't look like she wanted to point a gun at him, though, so he guessed that was a good sign?

"Hi…" she muttered, as she stopped in front of him. "What…"

"Rachel," Finn started. Kurt had helped him practice his little speech last night. He had it all memorized and hoped he wouldn't screw up. "I know we met in very unusual circumstances, and that I may be a little out of place coming here, but I never got your number, and I really needed to see you again. I know that I may have read into things wrongly, but I hope that wasn't the case. I…"

"He wants to ask you out," Santana cut him off. She was still there, leaning against the nearest desk and looking bored as hell.

"Santana!" Rachel screeched, annoyed. "He was doing well by himself, he didn't need your help!"

"God, it's truly exhausting watching you people fumble around each other like idiots. You like someone? _Do something_! Go straight to the point and stop wasting time!" Santana exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "How are you and Blaine not related, seriously?"

Finn could feel his face getting redder by the second. He felt like he was actually on fire. "I… well…"

Rachel placed her handful of files on a desk and, ignoring Santana pointedly, walked towards Finn. "Are these for me?" She asked sweetly.

"Yes! Yes, they are," he said, practically thrusting the bouquet into her hands. "I noticed you liked pink."

"It's my favorite color," she said with a smile. "I love them, Finn. Thank you so much."

Her eyes were still so big, and fixed on him. She looked at him expectantly, and Finn cleared his throat. He could do this.

"I was hoping that now that I'm not your assignment anymore, maybe you'd let me take you out on a date," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"That sounds lovely," Rachel answered and, placing a hand on Finn's shoulder to help herself with the height difference, she placed a quick, chaste kiss on his lips.

Santana gagged. Agent Evans raised his thumbs and smiled at him from behind Rachel's back.

Finn felt a lot more euphoric after this one little kiss than after any of his games, or any of the championship finals. His head was spinning.

Rachel grabbed one of her cards from her own desk, and slipped it into the pocket of Finn's jacket. "And now you have my number."

She smiled brightly at him before picking up her files again, and walking away and into some other office, still smelling the flowers she cradled in her arms. The office returned to its usual rhythm now that the distraction was over. Finn stood there, stunned and happy, for a couple of seconds.

Santana pointed a finger right in his face. "Don't screw it up," she said, but then she winked and smiled at him, before walking away.

Today was a great day.

* * *

There were two things that Blaine knew soon after he was back home, free of nurses and doctors, balloons and endless visitors.

One, he was going to go crazy with nothing to do. He wasn't made to be sitting at home recovering, staring mindlessly at the television and wasting precious hours he could be using for something else.

Two, he wanted to do something nice for Kurt.

They had shared a few texts, mostly Kurt wanting updates on how Blaine was doing and asking if he'd made it home safely, but neither had made an attempt to ask the other out or make plans to see each other again. Kurt seemed wary regarding Blaine's health, and Blaine knew Kurt was now on a very tight schedule with rehearsals. Somehow, it looked like the universe suddenly didn't want them to meet again.

 _Screw the universe_ , Blaine thought. They were going to work it out, somehow.

On the second day back home from the hospital, he got out of bed in the morning, showered and got dressed. He left his place and stopped at his favorite coffee shop on the way to the subway. After weeks of his life being absolutely altered, his day was normal. His life was back on track. Everything was fine.

It would soon be perfect.

He ran into Rachel at the elevator once he arrived at the bureau. She looked at him with wide eyes and hugged him tightly.

"What are you doing here? Captain Jones is going to kill you," she said, but she seemed happy to see him nonetheless. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, please, stop asking me that. It's all people ask me lately," he said, but he was smiling. He was touched that so many people cared for him. He had made a real family at the FBI, and he loved them, no matter how dysfunctional they could all be. "I just couldn't sit idly at home anymore. I was going insane."

"It's been _two days_ ," she replied teasingly, but the grin on her face told him she knew exactly what he was talking about. Rachel had broken her leg on a case two years ago, and had been as desperate to go back to work as he was. She had actually showed up at the bureau the day after the accident, her leg in a full cast, and it had taken a threat from Mercedes that she would be fired if she didn't follow the order to _just go home_ to make her leave.

They walked together into the office and Blaine was immediately swarmed with people patting his back and welcoming him back, telling him how happy they were that he was okay and congratulating him on another closed case. Blaine was happy to see them as well, and eager to catch up on everything that had been happening here in his absence.

Once the group around him finally cleared, he discovered Santana, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor and watching him with an arched eyebrow, her arms crossed.

"What do you think you are doing?" She asked him severely.

"Relax," Blaine said. "I'm not here to beg for a new case and get back out there. I just want to talk to Mercedes."

"There's a thing called _phone_ ," Santana replied. "You could have used that, and stayed home in your pajamas at the same time. It's incredible what technology can do these days…"

"Stop being so sarcastic, and admit you'd be doing the same if you were in my shoes," Blaine said, as he started making his way to Mercedes' office, followed closely by Santana. "We're all work junkies here. No one gets to judge me."

Santana huffed, which meant she didn't want to admit Blaine was right. "Cap will be happy to see you, anyway."

Mercedes was happy to see him, though she phrased the exact same question everyone had welcomed him with: "What are you doing here?"

"I'm starting to think no one's actually happy to see me," he said with a smile, as she ushered him to a seat as if he was too weak to be standing for too long. "I just wanted to come talk to you."

"I'm going to put it bluntly, Blaine," she said, as she took her own seat behind her desk. She leaned over it to look Blaine in the eyes. "There's no way in hell you're coming back to work so soon. You deserve a vacation, and a real one this time. No undercover jobs, no protecting witnesses, no getting you out of the office just to make you work elsewhere. You need this."

What Blaine said next shocked her. "That actually sounds perfect."

Mercedes blinked at him as if she wasn't sure she understood. "You do know vacation means, right?"

Blaine chuckled. "Cap, I'm actually looking forward to it. I have plans."

She sighed in relief. "I was afraid I would have to force you to take time off. Can I ask what brought this change of mind?"

Blaine looked down at his own hands for a second. She had never seen him look so bashful before. Or peaceful. There was something peaceful about him, like he hadn't been since before his father and Cooper had died. Something in Blaine had shifted, and she couldn't put her finger on it…

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm in love."

Oh, so _that's_ what it was.

"And I want to make sure I won't get in trouble because of it, because I know how you feel about us mixing our personal lives and our work lives, but…"

"It's Kurt Hummel, isn't it?" She interrupted, and Blaine blinked at her in confusion.

"How did you know?" He asked.

Mercedes stood up and went to her side table to pour some tea for both of them. She placed a steaming cup on front of Blaine. "Blaine, I'm not stupid. And I'm not blind. I could see it in both your and Hummel's faces as soon as you were back from Maryland. I don't know what happened while you two were there, but it's not very hard to guess it."

Blaine looked into his cup of tea. "My job here means the world to me. I don't want to jeopardize…"

"The case is closed. He's no longer your assignment. I see no reason why you two can't have a relationship," Mercedes shrugged. "Look, Blaine. With anyone else, I would have probably frowned upon this matter, but the truth is that you're the most professional guy I know. You wouldn't risk your whole career just because you want to bang a witness." Blaine spluttered, almost spilling the tea all over himself. "Yes, I said bang."

"That's not what this is…"

"Exactly, I know that." Mercedes smiled at him. "You've had it rough, Blaine. The past year has been incredibly rough on you. I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't allow you to have this. I won't be an obstacle. The bureau won't be an obstacle."

Blaine put his cup down and stood up, throwing his arms around Mercedes, hugging her tightly. They were friends, even if they usually had to act like she was only his superior. Blaine had truly lucked out with the wonderful family he had found here.

"Alright. Take a couple of weeks off, and go get that man of yours," she said, pushing him towards the exit.

"Yes, ma'am," he saluted, with a laugh.

He was about to go do exactly that when there was a scream. He looked around, already completely alert, and realized the source of it had been Santana, who was standing on the middle of the first floor, phone to her ear, a bunch of files fallen at her feet like she had just dropped them.

"What?!"

Blaine rushed to her, Mercedes following closely behind him.

"Santana, was wrong?" He asked, as she shoved her phone in her pocket. Her eyes were wide and frantic. Blaine had never seen her like that before. "What's going on?"

"It's Brittany. She's on her way to the hospital. The baby…" Her large, scared eyes focused on Blaine. "The baby is coming."

* * *

Blaine hadn't thought he would be back in the hospital again so soon. At least, this time it was for a good reason.

All his life, he had believed giving birth took endless hours, screaming and drama. But for Brittany and Santana, it was over in just a couple of hours.

Blaine would never forget the look of utter amazement and joy on Santana's face when she appeared in the waiting room after it was all over to inform him that the baby was fine and healthy, and Brittany was the most wonderful woman she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, loving and cherishing.

"I'm a mother, Blaine," she said, and Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had seen her so vulnerable, tears in her eyes, without even the slightest hint of teasing and sarcasm. This was Santana so purely happy, that nothing, not even the dark, mean world they knew they lived in, could taint it.

He hugged her, whispering his congratulations, filled with so much love and happiness for this woman who was, without a doubt, the most important person he'd had by his side in the past year, and beyond that. No one deserved this like Santana did. Very few people knew just how kind and selfless she could be, underneath that hard exterior she had the need to keep up at all times. Sometimes, Blaine wondered if only he and Brittany were allowed to see past it. He felt so blessed to be able to truly and thoroughly know her.

"Would you like to meet him?" Santana asked as they pulled away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand quickly.

Blaine smiled at her. "I would love to."

She guided him down the hallway. When they entered the room, the first thing he settled his eyes on was Brittany, sitting against the headboard of a hospital bed, looking down at the small bundle in her arms. Her blonde hair was pulled back from her face, and she looked tired, but Blaine couldn't remember seeing her smile so brightly before, which was truly an accomplishment, since Britt was probably the bubbliest person he had ever met. Santana immediately went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed and throwing an arm around her wife's shoulders, leaning in to watch their son.

"Hi, Blaine," Brittany said, acknowledging him without taking her eyes away from the baby. "Come here. We have someone we want you to meet."

Blaine approached them, just as Brittany passed the baby to Santana. He peeked into the blankets, finding the tiniest little hand, the cutest little nose, and the most adorable creature he could have ever imagined. The baby was all Brittany.

"Wow, he's amazing, guys. Congratulations," Blaine said, reaching carefully for his little hand and watching in awe as the tiny fingers wrapped around his own bigger one.

"Blaine, we…" Santana started. She cleared her throat, as if what she was about to say was hard for her. "We've decided to call him Cooper."

Blaine looked up abruptly, shocked by her announcement.

"You…" He mumbled, not knowing what to say.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Cooper. I wouldn't get to have this baby, this life, everything I love about it. I wouldn't get to wake up next to her every single morning and know I'm the luckiest person in the whole world," Santana said, and her voice was so thick, Blaine had no doubts she was doing her best to hold back her tears. "Cooper gave me the chance to have all of this, and I will never forget him. I will never not be grateful to him."

Blaine felt a lump in his own throat. He nodded slowly, just as Santana put the baby in his arms. His weight against his chest was warm and perfect, and he looked up at him with the biggest, clearest blue eyes he had ever seen.

He knew it wasn't possible, but they still reminded him of his brother's eyes.

"Cooper Lopez-Pierce," he muttered, leaning to place a soft kiss to the baby's forehead. "I think it suits him."

A few tears ran down his cheeks, and for the first time in a very long time, Blaine didn't bother wiping them away.

"Hi, little Coop," he whispered, and he hadn't called anyone that name in so long, it felt foreign, and yet so perfect in his lips. "It's so, so very nice to meet you."

Santana reached for Brittany's hand, and they watched the boys together. Right then, there was nothing else. There was no crime, no pain, no victims, no tragedies. Right then, the world was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

And Blaine knew, without a single doubt, that this was the kind of happiness he wanted for himself. The kind of happiness that made the world stop around you. The kind of happiness that erased all wounds, all tears. The kind of happiness that made his heart beat steadily and with purpose. That was the happiness he was ready to chase.

It was very fortunate that Agent Anderson had always been excellent at chasing.


	18. Chapter 18

There was something very strange about being back in his old dressing room. Kurt sat in front of one of the mirrors, the room crowded with all the other ensemble members coming and going, filled with post-show adrenaline, and looked at himself, trying to find the same man who had been here a handful of weeks ago, only caring about not being in the spotlight enough.

That man had been turned to ashes. He had reborn like the phoenix.

The last couple of hours seemed to have gone by in a daze. Being back on stage sent a thrill down his body: there was nothing like the lights on his face, the sound of the applause enveloping him like a hug. He knew it wasn't directed at him, not really, but he fed from it nonetheless.

Broadway was his home. It was nice to be back.

A few of his coworkers patted him on the back, saying for the millionth time how nice it was to have him here. Kurt smiled politely at them, thanked them for their words. It felt surreal. Not too long ago he had been struggling for his life, and now he was here, like he had never walked away from his everyday life.

The world didn't stop while Kurt Hummel's whole life was shifted on its axis. It kept spinning, and now Kurt was thrust back into it, and he had to cope and learn how to fit back into something he had once known so well…

He sighed. His thoughts the last few days had been scary and full of confusion. He had changed, but he still didn't know what to do about that.

His phone buzzed on the desk in front of him, and he grabbed it to find a text from Finn. His brother had been worried sick about him being out in the streets after the sun had set, and Kurt couldn't blame him. Finn's world had changed a bit, too.

Kurt texted him back to reassure him, let him know he was still in the theatre but would leave in a few minutes. Finn replied almost immediately with a smiley face and saying he looked forward to hearing how Kurt's first performance back had been.

Kurt smiled at his phone. No matter how much everything else changed, Finn was the best constant he would ever have.

After saying goodbye to his cast mates, Kurt grabbed his bag and walked down the hallway towards the exit. As soon as he opened the door, he was faced with the crowd waiting for the stars. Once again, no one even noticed him slipping out the stage door. He was not the reason they were here.

But _he_ was here, and he was alive, and there was so much, _so much_ , to be grateful for, still.

"Excuse me," a voice said, as a Playbill appeared right in front of his face, making him stop. "Would you mind giving me your autograph? I thought you were the most mesmerizing, beautiful and talented person on that stage."

Kurt blinked in absolute confusion and looked up from the Playbill to find Blaine standing in front of him, his eyes warm and his lips curled in a little smile.

"Blaine!" He exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, we kept missing each other, what with your rehearsals and me leaving the hospital, so…" Blaine shrugged. He was wearing a blue button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and jeans, his face freshly shaven, and his dark hair styled carefully. He looked absolutely breathtaking. "Here I am."

"You…" Kurt looked back at the Playbill and then at Blaine once more. "You saw the show?"

"Yes, and I wasn't lying just now. You were amazing, Kurt," Blaine replied warmly, stepping closer to him as a group of people tried to pass by them on the sidewalk. Or maybe it was just an excuse to be closer. Kurt was fine with either option. "I knew you were talented, but… wow."

Kurt felt himself blushing. "I'm just in the ensemble…"

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't take my eyes off you," Blaine said, his hand going slowly towards Kurt's face, giving him enough time to move away. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Kurt leaned his cheek into Blaine's touch, feeling invigorated by it.

"Blaine…" Kurt murmured, moved by his words. "Thank you. I wish you've told me you were coming. I could have got you the tickets…"

"I wanted to surprise you," Blaine said, grinning widely. "Did I succeed?"

God, Kurt loved him. With every little fiber of his heart, he loved him. "Of course you did. I'm so happy you're here."

"I was hoping you would like to have dinner with me?" Blaine said tentatively. "I mean, I truly couldn't take my eyes off you, so I need you to explain what the whole musical was actually about."

Kurt's laughter burst out of him unexpectedly. It took him a few seconds to realize it was the first time he laughed since coming back from Maryland. Being with Blaine just made him so unavoidably happy.

"Well, since it was my fault you couldn't focus on the show…" Kurt teased, rolling his eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

Blaine extended his arm towards him, like the gentleman he was. Kurt took it without a second's hesitation, and they strolled down the New York City sidewalks, heading to a restaurant Blaine suggested.

"Can I ask how you're feeling or are you going to chew my head off for it?" Kurt asked, nudging him playfully with his shoulder.

Blaine chuckled under his breath. "I'm fine, I promise."

"Fine enough to be out and about and go back to work and all that?" Kurt said, as they paused at a corner to wait for a red light.

"Yes," Blaine answered. "Though I'm actually taking a few days off work."

Kurt frowned. It didn't sound like Blaine to take time off. "You are?"

Blaine turned to face him fully. The traffic stopped as the light turned red, but they ignored it for a moment. "I need the time off. And I was hoping I would get to spend a lot of time with you. I didn't want silly distractions, like work, to interfere."

Kurt placed his hands on Blaine's chest, fingers grabbing at his shirt a little desperately. "God, Agent Anderson, you really do know how to make a man swoon."

Blaine grinned, and his smile could have powered all of New York City, it was so bright. Kurt loved that smile. He loved everything about this man.

Blaine's eyes flickered down to Kurt's lips. Kurt held his breath in expectation, but Blaine didn't move forward. "Kurt… would it be okay if I…?"

"Please, just kiss me already," Kurt practically whimpered, and Blaine didn't need to hear another word.

He surged forward, capturing Kurt's lips in an ardent kiss, one of his hands moving up Kurt's side until he was cupping his jaw, his thumb pressing slightly as if guiding Kurt to part his lips a little more. Kurt happily granted access, and Blaine's tongue teased his own. The fire that had been lit in Maryland returned full force, and for a moment, Kurt was scared they would burn Manhattan down with the intensity of it.

They only parted when it became hard to breathe. Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine, panting with his eyes closed, and willing his heart to stop trying to break through his ribcage. Blaine's hand remained on his cheek, his thumb now caressing his cheekbone, so very softly that it sent shivers down Kurt's spine.

"I missed you," Blaine mumbled quietly, his words almost swallowed by the sounds of the city around them.

"I missed you too," Kurt said, moving in to place the softest of kisses to Blaine's jaw.

Blaine sighed in contentment. "I could stay right here and just kiss you for the rest of my days."

Kurt laughed – again; the second time in just a handful of minutes, and only Blaine could have that effect on him right now. "That sounds like a perfect idea, but I'm starving." Kurt forced himself to pull away just enough to look at Blaine. "Maybe we can go kiss somewhere where there's food?"

Blaine's hand found his. He tangled their fingers together and then pressed a kiss to their joint knuckles. "Let's go."

They arrived at the Italian restaurant Blaine had suggested a few minutes later, and as they waited for their waitress to bring the menus, Kurt pulled out his phone to let Finn know he wasn't going home yet, after all.

"He worries," Kurt said, apologetically, as he put his phone away and returned all his attention to Blaine.

"Understandable," Blaine nodded kindly. "How is Finn doing?"

"He's great. He's happy everything's over, and he's been over the moon since Rachel accepted going out with him," Kurt leaned over the table a little bit, as if he couldn't resist being even a few inches closer to Blaine. "I guess we Hummel-Hudson brothers are very popular with you FBI peeps."

Blaine chuckled. "Can you blame us?"

Kurt hummed in contentment. "I guess not."

Once they had ordered, Blaine's hand found Kurt's on the tabletop, and it just felt so natural, like they had been holding hands forever. Like their hands were meant to hold each other.

"Have you heard from Manuel? I've been worried about him since he went back to Maryland. I asked at the bureau while you were still at the hospital, but no one could tell me anything," Kurt said. He had grown so fond of the old man. He hoped he was fine.

"He's happy to be home. I talked to him this morning, and tried convincing him to take a few weeks off, go somewhere with his children, but he doesn't want to leave the ranch. He says it's his home and he doesn't need a break from it," Blaine explained, shaking his head with a loving look on his face. "But one of his sons is staying with him for now, just to make sure he's fine."

Kurt nodded, looking down at their hands. He didn't want to think about what had happened in the ranch, but it wasn't something he could just turn off like a light. Memories came back to him in flashes, and he knew Blaine could tell by the look on his face.

"How have you been?" He asked, squeezing Kurt's hand in comfort. "For real."

"For real?" Kurt repeated, and he suddenly felt very tired. "I found a therapist, and I have my first appointment in two days. I think I… I really need to learn to live with what I did."

"That sounds very reasonable, Kurt. I'm glad you decided to do this," Blaine said reassuringly. "And I hope you know how brave you are."

Kurt smiled at him faintly. "I guess I'm a little braver than I thought I was…"

Blaine leaned over the table and kissed him, just a quick but perfect peck on the lips. "My hero."

Kurt blushed, and their food arrived before he could even think of something to say to that.

They drifted towards lighter topics as they ate. Kurt mentioned he was living with his brother and looking for a new home, and Blaine laughed at the horror stories he told about the apartments he had found online ("Seriously, Blaine, if they are going to post pictures online, the least they could do is make sure the cockroaches aren't the main focus."). Blaine told him about Santana and Brittany's new son, and how they had chosen his name ("I swear, Kurt, I thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest when they told me. Cooper would have loved this so much."). They shared their food, feeding each other bites of ravioli and tiramisu like the corniest of couples, and they talked about their favorite restaurants in the city ("Oh my god, we _have_ to go to Adela's. Their roasted salmon is to die for.").

By the time their waitress brought them their check – which they argued over until Blaine shyly suggested that Kurt could pay on their next date – it felt as if they had been together for a lifetime. It felt as if making plans to go out to eat, and go to one of Finn's games, and even suggesting going on a weekend getaway was just what you do after one date.

But they weren't a regular couple sitting down together for their first time after their friends had set them up on a blind date. They hadn't met on the subway and bonded over carrying the same book to read during their commute. They hadn't bumped into each other at Starbucks and bashfully exchanged phone numbers.

They had met in the most awful circumstances, and they had learned the hard way that there was no time to waste. When something felt right, you had to hold onto it. You didn't know when it could be taken away from you.

They stepped out of the restaurant hand in hand and stood in the sidewalk for a moment, both hesitating. Neither wanted to say goodbye.

"Would like to, uhm, walk me home?" Kurt suggested, even though it wasn't what he wanted. But he didn't want to part ways right here and now.

Blaine turned to him, brushed some of Kurt's hair with his fingers, placing it behind his ear. His eyes were wide and bright, and Kurt hated being a cliché, but he truly felt like he could fall into them. "Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask if you want to come home with me? I just don't want to say goodbye yet."

Kurt kissed him. It was the only way to express his relief at Blaine's words. He kissed him thoroughly, pressing their bodies together, and Blaine understood. It wasn't presumptuous at all.

They hailed a cab. During the ride to Brooklyn, which felt endless, they held hands, and Kurt once again texted Finn to ease his brother's mind and tell him he wasn't coming home tonight. He would have to put up with Finn's teasing the next day, but it would be so, so worth it.

Kurt stood behind Blaine as he fished the keys out of his pocket once they had arrived. He looked up at Blaine's home, a beautiful renovated carriage house, and felt the bubbling of anticipation in his stomach. As Blaine placed the key in the lock, Kurt took a deep breath and made a decision.

"Wait," he said quickly, and Blaine turned to look at him, eyebrows up to his hairline. "I… before we go inside…"

"Kurt?" Blaine asked, stepping closer to him, tilting his head curiously, a hint of concern in his whiskey eyes.

"There's something I should tell you," Kurt said, taking a deep breath. "There's something you should know. Before I go inside with you."

"Okay?" Blaine muttered, and he looked thoroughly confused now.

"I love you," Kurt said simply. Blaine's eyes widened slightly. "I'm in love with you. I think I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you. Or maybe the second time I saw you, since I was pretty traumatized when you interrogated me that first night." He chuckled, mostly out of nerves, twisting his hands together. "What I mean is… I don't want to come in if this is going to be a one-night only thing. I'm… here for so much more than that."

Blaine inhaled sharply. He took one more step towards him and cupped his face in his hands. "Oh, you silly, silly boy."

Kurt blinked at him. That was not the answer he had hoped for. "I… what?"

"If you haven't figured out that I'm head over heels for you and that I'm here for so much more than just one night, too, then I'm either doing something very wrong here, or you're just so, so blind," Blaine retorted, grinning at him.

"Head over heels, huh?" Kurt repeated, as he felt his cheeks burning at Blaine's words.

"I thought I was being horribly obvious," Blaine bit his bottom lip, clearly amused. "I don't make a habit of sleeping with the witnesses under my protection."

Kurt covered his eyes with his hand and laughed. He was being ridiculous. "God, I'm sorry, I just…"

"Kurt?" Blaine whispered, carefully removing Kurt's hand from his face. When Kurt's blue eyes were fixed in him, Blaine added: "I love you."

A slow, happy, delighted smile bloomed on Kurt's lips. He pressed a quick, chaste kiss against Blaine's mouth, and then rubbed their noses together, in a tender and playful way. "Then let's go inside."

Blaine opened the door and felt on the wall for the light switch. Kurt stepped into a warm living room, simply yet nicely decorated, with a large black leather couch, a flat screen TV and bookcases filled to the brim with books and picture frames. The style reminded him a bit of the ranch, although more lived in, less country-like.

"Your house is lovely," he commented, as he moved towards the nearest bookcase.

"I actually grew up here," Blaine explained, moving into the kitchen area, surprisingly spacious for a New York City home. "This was my parents' house. When my mom moved out after my dad died, I decided to live here."

Kurt grabbed a picture from the shelf. It showed four smiling faces: Blaine, Cooper, and their parents, when the boys were teenagers, during a fishing trip. They looked like a happy, loving family. "I love how long your curls were here."

"Oh shush it. It was a bird's nest," Blaine laughed. "Trust me, you don't want to see me with my hair that long."

Kurt was still studying the picture when Blaine joined him, offering him a glass of wine, and taking a sip from his own. His free hand found its way to Kurt's waist, and simply rested there as if it was second nature to him.

"Cooper was so handsome," Kurt said softly.

"He was," Blaine nodded. "I was always a little jealous of him for that. People were always so welcoming to him, so open. I didn't have it as easy. It was silly of me, I know. He was an amazing brother, even if he sometimes believed the world spun around him."

Kurt pressed a kiss to his cheek and then put the picture back on the shelf. He was tempted to ask more questions about Blaine's family, about his relationship with Cooper, about that fishing trip, but he didn't want Blaine to feel sad. Not now.

Plus, they had the rest of their lives to talk about that. And about so much more.

He turned around in Blaine's grasp, so they could be face to face. Blaine was beautiful. He wasn't sure if he thought of him like that before: hot, yes; attractive, always; beautiful? Yes, he was the most beautiful man Kurt had ever seen, but not only because of his golden eyes, his strong body, or the shape of his tantalizing mouth. He was beautiful because he had a beautiful soul.

And for some amazing, fortunate reason… he was in love with Kurt.

How had his nightmare morphed into such an idyllic dream?

Kurt took a sip of wine to try and calm his racing heart. It tasted bitter and strong in his tongue, its texture almost as silky as Blaine's kisses.

"Would you like a tour?" Blaine asked into his ear, and oh, when had he stepped so close to him? They were pressed together as if they were in the middle of the most intimate dance, but they weren't moving at all.

"Is that just an excuse to take me to your bedroom?" Kurt asked, nuzzling Blaine's hairline.

He could feel Blaine's chest vibrate as he chuckled, they were so close. "Kurt Hummel, you're too smart for your own good."

"Or maybe you just haven't realized you don't really need an excuse to take me to your bedroom," Kurt practically purred into his ear, and oh, maybe the wine had gone to his head already.

Blaine took his hand, and slowly guided him farther into the house, down the hallway, up the stairs. Kurt barely had time to take a look around - the pictures on the walls, the guitar leaning against a wall, the colorful carpet in the hallway - before Blaine was crossing the door into his bedroom.

His bed had a navy blue duvet and was carefully made, with a couple of fluffy decorative pillows in matching tones. Kurt was about to comment on the vintage side tables, when Blaine wrapped his arm around his waist and made him turn to face him.

"Kurt, I… I hope you know…" Blaine murmured, looking into his eyes intensely.

Kurt smiled at him, encouragingly. "What is it?"

"I know what I do for a living can be scary. I know maybe you had enough of scary situations for the rest of your life, and that being with an FBI agent could be…" Blaine said, but Kurt interrupted him before he could look even more worried.

"Blaine," he said sweetly. "I've known since the start exactly who you are and what you do. And I'm not going to lie, it is scary as hell. But… what kind of person would I be if I decided not to be with the man I love only because of what he does for a living? What kind of man would I be if I didn't take advantage of every precious day I can spend with you when I know how it all can be over in a second?"

Blaine relaxed in his arms. "Are you sure? Because my schedule is crazy, and ending in the hospital isn't actually that unusual, and…"

"Blaine," Kurt interrupted again, this time with a roll of his eyes. "Shut up, put that wine glass down, and just kiss me already, okay?"

With a chuckle, Blaine did what he was told. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, before he captured Kurt's lips in a desperate kiss.

* * *

Kurt would never forget how gentle Blaine was as he used his lube-coated fingers to open Kurt's body, or the dark look in his eyes as he watched Kurt fuck himself down onto them, eager for more. He wouldn't forget the spark of pleasure when Blaine's tongue made its way down his chest, to circle his belly button and further down, until his mouth was right where he wanted it, his cock wrapped in a velvety heat he couldn't get enough of.

He would never forget the sounds that escaped Blaine's mouth as he pushed inside Kurt's body, the trembling of his arms as he tried to hold himself up as not to crush him. He wouldn't forget the sloppy kisses, the ones he was too lost in pleasure to focus on, or the way he placed his forehead against Kurt's and closed his eyes tightly, as if he couldn't deal with everything he was feeling.

What they had shared back at the ranch had been wonderful. The way their bodies worked together… Kurt thought they had been made to move against each other, to rip pleasure from the deepest parts of them, to feed the fire that burned within them when they touched. But this… Kurt had never felt closer to another human being. This was more than sex. This was something that was beyond words.

When they were right on the edge of their orgasms, Blaine reached for Kurt's hands, intertwining their fingers together and pulling them up above Kurt's head, bringing them impossibly closer. Their lips were pressed together, parted, as they panted and moaned into each other's mouths. Kurt arched his back, his chest glued to Blaine's, and spilled all over his stomach, sending Blaine over the abysm as he clenched around him.

They held each other through it, whispering little nothings between one kiss and the next, an endless string of kisses that brought smiles to their faces, which were erased by one more kiss, and then one more smile, and then one more kiss. It was the most perfect cycle, and neither wanted it to end.

How was it possible that the most horrible thing Kurt had gone through in his entire life had also brought him the most amazing thing he had ever had?

Blaine's love had been so unexpected, and yet so welcomed, so needed. And it would be so, so cherished.

He buried his hands in Blaine's sweaty curls and brought him in for a sweet, deep kiss. As they parted, already falling asleep tangled under the covers, he whispered: "Goodnight, Agent Anderson."

Blaine's lips stretched into a smile, but he was too far gone to reply, and simply sunk into Kurt's arms and closed his eyes.

* * *

The next morning, Blaine woke up moaning. His rock hard cock was trapped between his body and the mattress, and there was a silky wet heat in his ass. He moaned again, slowly slipping into consciousness, before looking over his shoulder to see Kurt pulling away from him, cheeks flushed and lips cherry red.

Blaine could have come from that sight alone.

"Kurt…" He whimpered, arching back and silently asking for more.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up for a while," Kurt said, voice thick with arousal. "Do you mind if I…?"

"God, _please_ ," Blaine moaned, burying his face in the pillow.

Kurt leaned back in, using his thumbs to spread Blaine's cheeks apart, and then he was right there, the heat of his mouth covering the very center of him, his tongue giving long, teasing licks before pushing in. Blaine closed his eyes and focused on the insistent waves of pleasure this sent through his body, and he knew he could come soon, if Kurt didn't stop.

And then Kurt added a finger alongside his tongue.

Blaine just melted into the bed and allowed Kurt to prep him, to open him up, to get him ready for what was coming next. He had never felt so safe and taken care of during sex before. It felt so new. But every second with Kurt felt new and bright, like stepping into a new adventure.

After a few minutes under his ministration, Blaine started begging him for more. Fingers weren't enough. His mouth - as wonderful as it was - wasn't enough. He needed more.

Kurt covered Blaine's body with his, his chest pressed against his back, as he thrust in, burying himself deep into Blaine in just one swift move. Blaine growled in appreciation, shifting his body to give him better access.

"You're so… _relaxed_ ," Kurt commented, nibbling on Blaine's earlobe.

Relaxed was the right word to describe how Blaine felt. Suddenly, he didn't have a care in the world. He wasn't worried about a case, obsessed with catching a criminal, or grieving what he had lost. He was relaxed, happy and ready to give himself away to this – to this feeling, to Kurt, to what they could build together. Life was, for once, exactly what it was supposed to be.

And if new challenges appeared, Blaine was sure, without a single doubt, that they could face them together.

So he let himself sink into this moment. He closed his eyes and focused only on what Kurt was making him feel, on the weight of his body behind him, the pulse of his cock deep within him, the gentleness of his fingers as he caressed randomly across his skin.

On one of those caresses, Kurt's fingers came upon the new scar on Blaine's shoulder. It was still fresh, and even though Blaine wasn't exactly in pain, it was sensitive. Kurt's hips stuttered, hesitant, when Blaine inhaled sharply at the touch.

"I'm sorry, I…" Kurt murmured.

"No, it's fine," Blaine said, twisting his head enough to smile at him. "It doesn't hurt."

"Are you sure? I should have… should I have been more careful? Is any of this hurting you?" Kurt asked, peppering small kisses on the back of his neck.

Blaine groaned. "The only thing that hurts me is that you _stopped_."

Kurt chuckled, but his hips began moving again, and Blaine arched into them, seeking for more. "Just like this?"

Blaine moaned, and as he shifted, he could feel Kurt even more fully, which he hadn't though was possible. "God, yes. Oh Kurt, oh _please_ , oh…"

As his voice grew more and more desperate, Kurt's pace also became faster. "It's okay, darling. Just tell me what you want."

"Touch me," Blaine muttered brokenly, and they had to maneuver themselves enough so Blaine could lift his hips and Kurt could reach under him, his fingers immediately closing around his hard cock.

It didn't take long after that. Just a few strokes and Blaine was spilling all over the sheets, and the sounds he made and the way his ass clenched Kurt's cock, sent Kurt over the edge as well. He stayed buried deep inside of Blaine even after both of them had gone soft, like they couldn't bear to be apart, like this was the only way to truly be _close_.

"That was…" Blaine mumbled stupidly, as soon as his brain began to function again. "I want to wake up like that every day."

Kurt laughed, his lips pressed against the curve of Blaine's neck. "I'll see what I can do about it…"

Once they had no choice but to pull away, they shifted until they could face each other, blue eyes looking into whiskey eyes, and whatever they were searching for, they seemed to find it, because they moved in for a soft, slow kiss.

"I love you," Blaine whispered, like it was a secret.

"I love you, too," Kurt replied, without missing a beat, like it was the only certainty left in the world, the only thing that couldn't be questioned.

Outside, New York was already awake and busy, the sun bright in the sky, the traffic heavy, the people moving non-stop, like they couldn't waste a second getting to their destination. But inside these walls, Kurt and Blaine had no rush and simply kissed the morning away.

There was nowhere else they'd rather be.


End file.
